


"Icing" on the Cake

by aww_writing_no



Series: Game Plans [3]
Category: Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Deaf Clint Barton, Hockey, Ice Skating, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Past Drug Use, Winter Olympics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:48:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23842522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aww_writing_no/pseuds/aww_writing_no
Summary: After several years of setbacks, hockey player Bucky Barnes felt like his life was finally getting back on track. He was the starting goalie for the Howling Commandos again, his boyfriend Clint had proposed at the Olympics after winning a gold medal in pairs figure skating, and it for once it seemed like he had a real chance to get his “happily ever after”.Unfortunately, life is never as straightforward as it seems.A sequel toDidn’t "Figure" I’d Fall For You.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Series: Game Plans [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1133921
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the direct sequel to _Didn't "Figure" I'd Fall For You_ and takes place in the four years between the final chapter and the epilogue. If you haven't read "Figure", a few of Bucky's comments will make more sense if you know that Bucky struggled with an addiction to painkillers after losing his arm. By the time this story takes place, Bucky is addiction-free.
> 
> Also, a HUGE shoutout to [Nny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nny/pseuds/Nny) who beta read this as part of the 2019 Charity Hawktion. I was fundamentally incapable of finishing this in anything remotely resembling a timely manner, but she beared with me and this story is so SO much better because of her.

Bucky threw a stack of wedding magazines onto the floor in frustration. He never thought he’d become a Bridezilla, but if Clint didn’t start pulling his weight with this wedding planning stuff that might well happen. Bucky was tired of doing all the legwork; it may be the off season, but he still had training to be doing if he wanted to make the Olympic team in less than four years. It felt like all the energy he should be putting into training was being diverted towards wedding planning. Clint was acting like everything would just magically fall into place, and it was starting to drive Bucky up the wall. 

The only thing Clint had an opinion on were the wedding colors, of course. Bucky was dubious that black and violet would make good wedding colors, but at this point he was willing to go with whatever Clint wanted as long as he would freaking pitch in. Or show some interest. At this point he’d settle for interest. 

They didn’t even have a venue. 

They needed to get married before competition season started for both of them, and they didn’t even have a venue. They were in so much trouble. At this rate they’d be getting married at City Hall and having the reception at the rink between practices. 

Bucky paused. That actually wasn’t such a bad idea. 

The first time they’d met had been at the rink after all. Pretty much all of their first “dates” had either started or ended at the rink, and the ice held a special place in both of their hearts. Some people might say it was too much like getting married where they worked, but Bucky thought it made a lot of sense to hold their wedding in the place that had started it all. 

Besides, all their friends were athletes. It would be convenient for everyone involved - and who didn’t want an impromptu hockey scrimmage at their wedding reception? 

Five minutes later Bucky found himself standing in Pepper’s office. 

“Hi Bucky, how can I help you?” Pepper asked, looking up from her computer with a smile. 

Bucky fought the urge to look at the floor. This suddenly seemed like a terrible idea. He should have thought this through before deciding to storm Pepper’s office; there was no way he and Clint could afford something like the Stark Facility. “How much would it cost to rent out the rink for like 6 hours in the evening?” he blurted out. 

Running away sounded like a great idea, but he felt frozen in place. He wasn’t sure which would be more humiliating. Running away like a skittish deer or staying put like a deer in the headlights. Apparently either way made him look like Bambi. 

Pepper laughed, interrupting his train of thought. “Our standard rental rate starts at $450 an hour, but for you and Clint I think Tony would be willing to consider it a wedding present - as long as you didn’t choose to get married during our most popular public skate times.” 

Bucky could only gape as she swiveled her computer monitor around so he could see it. She had a calendar pulled up and was pointing to several dates. 

“I think a Sunday evening would be ideal, both for your schedule and ours,” Pepper was telling him as he tried to get his brain back in gear. “We have an opening in two months on July 19th, if that’s not too soon. Otherwise we could do August 9th or 23rd if you wanted to wait another month. Any later than that and we’re starting to run into heavy bookings before competition season starts.” She looked up at him and smiled. “I trust that won’t be a problem since you’ll both be getting pretty busy by then anyway.” 

“Uhhh,” Bucky said, brain still playing catch-up. “Let’s go with the closest and get the planning phase over with. We don’t need a fancy wedding.” 

“Perfect.” Pepper smiled, turning the screen back and typing quickly. “I’ve got you down from 4-10pm on the 19th, but if the event runs long I don’t think Tony’s going to mind. To be honest, he’ll probably be the one pestering you to keep the party going. Would you like me to forward you a list of caterers we’ve had good experience with in the past?” 

“That would be amazing, thank you so much,” Bucky said. Pepper was the best. “Can I hire you as our wedding planner?” 

Pepper laughed at him and made a shooing motion with her hand. “You can’t afford me. Go tell your fiance you have a wedding date.” 

*

“Cliiiiiiint!” Bucky yelled, barging into the dorm room he shared with Natasha. 

Natasha looked up from the book she was reading while doing the splits on the floor. “Do you mind?” she asked, glaring at him. 

“Sorry, have you seen Clint?” Bucky asked, slowly backing out of the room. While Natasha now tolerated him for Clint’s sake, the fact she had once threatened to murder him was never far from Bucky’s mind. He often felt like he was one misstep away from being strangled with his own skate laces. You know, if his skates actually had laces. 

“He’s in the gym,” she told him coolly. 

“Great, thanks!” Bucky said, giving her a quick wave and shutting the door before she decided Clint was better off without Bucky after all. 

At least she was true to her word. Bucky found Clint as promised in the gym, doing a frankly obscene number of lunges. 

“Hey Buck,” Clint said, panting and he raised and lowered himself, twisting from side to side as he gripped a medicine ball. “Wanna lunge with me?” 

Bucky shook his head, distracted for a moment by Clint’s biceps as he held the medicine ball in front of his chest. Coach Peggy made them do plenty of lunges; he didn’t need to subject himself to any more than he had to. Besides, watching Clint was way more interesting than doing them himself. His ass definitely didn’t look that good when he was lunging. Possibly because he didn’t do them in purple leggings so tight he would have assumed Clint had stolen them from Natasha if he hadn’t known Natasha wore exclusively black. Not that he was complaining - the view was great. “No thanks. I just wanted to let you know we have a wedding date.” 

“What?” Clint yelped, standing up and tossing the medicine ball at Bucky who caught it one handed. “When did this happen? When are we getting married?” 

A few people nearby paused their workouts to give them curious looks before pretending to mind their own business while clearly eavesdropping. Gym rats were not the most subtle bunch. 

Bucky rolled his eyes and tossed the medicine ball back to Clint. Clint fumbled the catch and almost dropped the ball on his foot. “Smooth,” Bucky told him, shaking his head. “We’re getting married in two months and Pepper’s sending me a list of caterers and if you don’t start helping out we’re going to be serving McDonalds and having a cake by Betty Crocker.”

“Ooo, I haven’t had McDonalds in forever,” Clint said, sounding wistful. 

Bucky made a face. “I’ll order fish sandwiches for everyone.”

It was Clint’s turn to make a face. “Okay, you’re disgusting. Can we have a pizza buffet?” 

“I really don’t think Pepper’s caterers are going to be offering pizza buffets.” Why did Clint always have to make things so difficult? Granted this was the man that proposed on the spur of the moment with a stuffed rabbit, so maybe Bucky shouldn’t be too surprised. “I guess we can ask if you really want pizza at our wedding reception.” 

“I mean, it’s pizza,” Clint said as if that explained everything. 

“It’s also greasy and people aren’t going to want to clean grease out of their fancy clothes,” Bucky countered. Yeah, on second thought, this was a terrible idea. Nobody wanted to eat pizza at a wedding. Clint had the worst ideas. 

“We can give out gift cards to the dry cleaners as party favors.” 

“What the hell, Clint?” Bucky yelled as he tried not to unleash his inner Bridezilla and failed. Didn’t Clint know anything about weddings? Nobody had pizza buffets at weddings! You were supposed to have like, roast chicken and salmon. Maybe a mushroom quiche for the vegetarians. Not a pizza buffet. 

“What?” Clint asked, starting up his lunges again. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Bucky demanded. “You’re acting like you’ve never even been to a wedding!” 

Clint gave him a curious look as he continued working out - the lunges looking decidedly less sexy now. “I haven’t.” 

Bucky threw his arms in the air. “But you should still know that nobody serves pizza at them! Why do you always have to be so difficult?” 

Clint paused the lunges again and turned to Bucky, cocking his head to the side. “You really want to do this in the gym?” he asked quietly. 

“No!” Bucky shouted. Everyone was staring at him and he hated it. “No, I don’t want to do our wedding planning in the gym, but you don’t seem to care about helping and this is the only time you’ve even been willing to talk about it since you proposed! So no, I don’t want to do this in the gym, but you don’t seem to be giving me any other option.” 

“Woah, okay, time out Buckaroo,” Clint said, placing the medicine ball on the rack and grabbing Bucky’s elbow. He hustled them through the locker room, toeing off his shoes and kicking them under a bench before dragging Bucky outside in his stocking feet. “I’m sorry it seems like I haven’t been helping with the wedding planning, but what is going on?” 

“You haven’t gotten involved in the wedding planning at all, and now you want a pizza buffet, and sometimes I feel like you don’t even care about getting married!” Bucky shouted. He didn’t really mean to be shouting, but he was tired and upset and scared that Clint was getting cold feet about marrying him. “I get it,” Bucky barrelled on, giving voice to all the fears he’d been trying to ignore. “You were high off of winning a gold medal, and now you’re realizing marriage means getting stuck with a one-armed wannabe hockey player with a drug problem. That’s not what you want your future to look like, but you’re stuck with a proposal you didn’t mean to make. I just wish you’d actually told me instead of letting me believe in this.” 

Clint stared at Bucky with ever-increasing horror as he continued his rant. 

“Did you figure I’d get tired and call off the wedding if you didn’t help? That you could brush me off with a pizza buffet, then go laughing back to Natasha about what a sucker I am? Damn it Clint, I actually love you. I thought you felt the same way, but I guess I was just your pet project. Poor pathetic Bucky Barnes, sad and broken and needs to be fixed.” 

Bucky’s rant was halted as Clint put a hand over his mouth. 

“Stop,” Clint said, shaking his head. “Just, I need a minute to process all this, but stop. You’re not broken, you don’t need to be fixed, and I love you more than anything in the world.” 

He took his hand off Bucky’s mouth, and when Bucky stayed silent he pulled him into a tight hug. Bucky just stood there until he felt a dampness near his collarbone, where Clint’s face was pressed into his chest. 

“Clint?” 

Clint looked up, eyes red and bright with tears. He gave a pathetic sniffle before wiping his sleeve across his face. “Sorry,” he sniffled again. “I just… you seriously thought I didn’t love you anymore? This must be why Nat says I can’t have nice things.” A couple tears rolled down his cheek, but he made no move to wipe them off. “I can’t even manage to be your fiance without fucking up so badly you think I’m getting cold feet.” Clint buried his face back into Bucky’s chest and mumbled, “I’d make an ice skater joke about having cold feet, but I don’t want you to think I don’t love you. I’ve done enough of that already.” 

Bucky felt like someone had grabbed a handful of his intestines and was trying to pull them out of his body. “I didn’t know what to think,” he admitted. “It seemed logical.” 

“Bucky,” Clint said, squeezing him tighter, his voice miserable, “you are one hundred percent what I want my future to look like. Whether you think you’re a washed up hockey player or not, I want you to be my husband. Always and forever.” 

“But… you seemed like you didn’t care,” Bucky faltered. Clint had been so hands off with the whole wedding thing it had seemed like he didn’t actually want to get married. And if he didn’t want to get married, it seemed logical that it was because he didn’t want to marry the person he’d be getting married to. Maybe that wasn’t the case? 

“I didn’t care about the  _ wedding _ ,” Clint said, putting emphasis on the wedding part. “I care about YOU. I will always care about you. I don’t care what we eat or what we wear or what kind of flowers we have on the tables. I’ll be happy because I get to marry  _ you _ . We could be getting married by an Elvis impersonator or behind a dumpster or at a pizza parlour and I wouldn’t care because I get to marry  _ you _ and your pretty face.” 

“Oh,” Bucky said, feeling stupid. “You think I’m pretty?” 

“The prettiest,” Clint said, with feeling.

“Prettier than Steve?” Bucky asked. 

“Prettier than Steve,” Clint confirmed. 

“Prettier than Thor?” Bucky asked, thinking of the blond Nordic weightlifter they often saw in the gym. 

“Prettier than Thor.” 

“Prettier than Natasha?” Bucky asked with a grin. 

Clint sighed. “At the risk of getting murdered in my sleep tonight, yes. Prettier than Natasha.” 

“Aww, you do think I’m pretty. You can sleep in my bed tonight. I’ll protect you from getting murdered.” Bucky reached out to smooth out a tuft of Clint’s hair. “And we can go over the wedding plans so I’m not doing this all by myself.” 

Clint looked down at his feet before wrapping an arm around Bucky’s waist. “I’m sorry about that,” he said, scuffing the toe of his now-dirty socks on the ground. “I didn’t mean for you to think I didn’t want to get married.” 

“It’s okay,” Bucky said, somewhat surprised that it was actually okay. He’d voiced his fears, Clint had told him he was an idiot, and they could move on. “I’m sorry I blew up over pizza.” 

Clint snorted. “Yeah, I’m never letting you live that down by the way. You thought I didn’t love you because I wanted pizza at our wedding. Talk about a presumptive leap!”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. 

“What? I spend too much time around Tony. That man’s like a walking thesaurus!” 

Bucky shook his head. “You use the term ‘presumptive leap’ yet you want to serve pizza at your wedding. You’re a mess.” 

“That ain’t news to me,” Clint said with a shrug. “You’re the sucker that wants to marry me.” 

Bucky threw an arm around Clint’s shoulders and grinned. “Damn right I do.” 

*

“Aww, tie, no,” Clint said, looking down at the grease dripping off his pizza and onto his shirt. Maybe Bucky had been right about pizza not being the best wedding food, or at least not the best fancy clothes food. Pizza was delicious and there was no reason it should be excluded from wedding food. But maybe they should have given out bibs. 

Natasha walked over, shaking her head. “As much as it pains me to say this, I think Bucky was right about pizza being too messy.” 

“Hey now,” Clint protested even though he'd been thinking the same thing. “Pizza is great.” 

“Great for making a mess of your shirt?” she asked, grabbing his tie and firmly pressing a napkin against it to soak up some of the grease. There probably wasn’t much she could do about the shirt, short of making him strip it off and change. 

He probably shouldn’t be stripping at his own wedding reception. Bucky would probably have a couple of things to say about that, even if Clint was still disappointed by the distinct lack of strippers at their bachelor party. Not that he wanted to watch them, exactly - Bucky was better than any stripper - but some things were traditional. 

The paintball tournament Natasha and Steve had arranged had been pretty fun, though. It turned out Bucky had a deadly aim with a paintball gun, and by the end of the night Clint was absolutely covered in red paint. Of course Bucky had been pretty equally covered in purple paint, so Clint did get his strip show by the end of the night. 

_ Anyway _ , he probably shouldn’t be thinking about that because they still had the rest of the wedding reception to get through. “Pizza is great for lots of things!” he told Natasha belatedly. 

After the disaster that had been suggesting pizza for their wedding reception, Bucky had surprised Clint and totally rolled with the idea. When he’d had his breakdown over the pizza, Clint had been shocked and a little devastated that Bucky had thought he didn’t want to get married. He really hadn’t meant for Bucky to think he didn’t want to get married, but he could understand how he’d come to that conclusion. Clint had been so wrapped up in the post-Olympics press tour that he put wedding planning on the back burner. That also meant putting Bucky on the back burner - a mistake he was hoping to never make again. 

To make it up to him, Clint had gone into a planning frenzy. While he was busy calling what felt like every bakery and florist in the city, Bucky had sneakily contacted Clint’s favorite pizza parlour. By the time they’d picked cake flavors (chocolate espresso and strawberry) and Clint got around to calling catering places, Bucky had already drawn up the catering contract for their pizza buffet. Clint had a suspicious feeling that was Bucky’s way of apologising for the overreaction. 

Natasha dropped the tie and continued to shake her head at Clint. “I can’t take you anywhere,” she sighed. 

“What do you mean? You take me all kinds of places. Regionals, Nationals, Worlds,” he said, ticking them off on his greasy fingers. “I clean up good and you know it.” 

She gave him a disapproving look. “So you clean up well for competition, but not your own wedding?” 

Clint shrugged. She wasn’t wrong. “We’d get docked points if I showed up to a competition with pizza on my outfit. Nobody’s judging me here, except maybe you. Bucky already knows I’m a mess and he loves me anyway.” 

“God, you’re a sap,” Natasha said, rolling her eyes. 

“Hey, just because you’re not- oops, I gotta go!” Clint cut off his thought - probably saved from an untimely death for completing that sentence - as he spotted Bucky gesturing at him next to the ‘dance floor’. A carpet had been placed over about half the rink, and the DJ was set up at the edge of the carpet. Guests had the option of dancing on the carpeted section, or donning a pair of skates and dancing on the ice. 

Clint and Bucky’s first dance was a simple skating routine choreographed by Couslon as a wedding gift. Clint felt a thrill of excitement go through him when he saw Bucky waiting there, skate guards in hand. This had been how it first started - it seemed fitting their first dance as a married couple would be on the rink they both so loved. 

Bucky spotted the dark stain on Clint’s shirt as he approached and sighed. “I shoulda figured you couldn’t keep yourself presentable tonight.” 

“I don’t know why you even thought I could,” Clint said, leaning over to give his husband (his husband!) a kiss. “I mean, have you met me?” 

Bucky returned the kiss enthusiastically while their friends hooted around them. “You’re right. I clearly need to lower my expectations when it comes to you. You ready to do this thing?” 

“Always,” Clint said with a soppy smile. He tossed his skate guards on one of the chairs next to the ice and grabbed Bucky’s hand. Together, they stepped out onto the ice and took their positions in the middle of the rink. 

Clint beamed as the first notes of “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You” played over the loudspeaker and Bucky visibly relaxed. Bucky had been nervous about their dance, claiming not to be coordinated enough for dancing on the ice, but a few practices with Coulson had proved him wrong. When Coulson found out Bucky could do a full splits in skates, he’d immediately made it the featured opening of the dance despite Bucky’s protests that while he  _ could _ do the splits, he couldn’t do it gracefully. He’d proven himself wrong there too, if the cheering of their friends as he dropped to the ice and Clint went into a spin in front of him were any indication. 

Clint let his mind wander as the dance continued, letting muscle memory take over as he daydreamed about their future. He’d never thought much past his next competition until he’d met Bucky, but here he was, getting ready for an entire  _ life _ together. He skated around Bucky, breaking off to do a quick set of single axels before skating back to Bucky, who was skating backwards, hands outstretched towards Clint. They grabbed each other’s hands and slowed, Clint guiding them into a spin. 

As the spin slowed, Clint pivoted in Bucky’s arms, wrapped tight with his arms around his shoulders. He tilted his head back as they stopped, leaning up as Bucky kissed him. 

“I love you,” Bucky sighed, sounding content as he relaxed his arms and let Clint turn back to face him again. The screams and cheering of their friends echoed off the rafters, and Clint pressed his face into Bucky’s chest, squeezing him in a tight hug. 

“I love you too.” 

*

Bucky had been nervous about their first dance, afraid he would mess up and send them both crashing to the ice. But then the music had started and all those days of practice had taken over and everything was just fine because Clint was there with him. 

God, it was embarrassing how much he loved Clint. 

When the dance was over and he miraculously hadn’t killed the both of them, they stepped off the ice hand in hand and he sat in a chair to take off his skates for the mother-son dance. Clint stood next to him, running his hand through the hair at the nape of Bucky’s neck. 

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Clint muttered, sounding nervous. 

Bucky tilted his head up to look at his new husband. “That was perfect, sweetheart.” 

The beaming smile on Clint’s face meant more than anything he could have said. It was still hard to believe he’d gotten this lucky, but he was so happy he had. Bucky was still leaning into Clint’s hand and basking in the glow of their first dance as a married couple when he heard the DJ announce, “Mama Barnes in the hooooouse!” 

“Oh no,” Bucky yelped, dropping his skate in a fluster. He only had one skate off and he still had to put his shoes back on. His dress shoes with their horribly thin, slippery laces. Maybe he could do the dance with his mom in socks? 

“Here,” Clint said, releasing the catch on Bucky’s ratcheting skate laces and grabbing the blade. With an experienced tug, Bucky’s skate came off and Clint dropped it on the bench next to him. “This’ll just be like old times,” he said with a smile, falling to his knees with a grace Bucky envied. 

Bucky quickly slid his shoes on his feet and Clint had them laced with a speed Bucky also envied. “Tony needs to get into the adaptive dress shoe market,” he said with a laugh. 

“I’ll let him know,” Clint said, grabbing his hands and pulling him to his feet. “But hurry up, you can’t keep your mom waiting.” He leaned in for a kiss and Bucky was happy to oblige. “Go knock their socks off, hon.” 

“About time,” Bucky’s mom said with a fond smile when he finally made it to the dance floor. “I thought I’d have to do this by myself.” 

Bucky laughed. “As if I’d ever leave you hanging. I ain’t got a death wish, you know.” 

His mom’s smile turned melancholy and she reached up to pat his cheek. “I know, honey.” The music started and she wrapped her arms around his waist in a tight hug before stepping back into position for their dance. 

Bucky had never really understood the tradition behind the parent-child dances at weddings. Or the parent-child dances at school, for that matter. He’d usually managed to avoid those by having hockey practice; he’d had a laser focus on making the Olympic team even back then. This one seemed important to his mom, though, so he’d given in to tradition. He felt a bit sad Clint didn’t get a dance – he loved dancing and being the center of attention – but it wasn’t like Clint’s mom could be at their wedding. 

Apparently Clint had a brother that was still alive, but Clint told Bucky he didn’t know where he was or what he was doing. Even if they could find him, Clint had said, he didn’t need or want him at the wedding. 

While Bucky respected Clint’s decision, it still made him a little sad to have all of his family here and none of Clint’s. Of course, Bucky’s family had practically adopted Clint the moment he walked in the door the first time he brought him home to ‘meet the parents’. They’d done that for Steve too, way back in the day. 

“We’re used to him dragging home wayward blonds,” Becca had told Clint after a few glasses of wine. Granted, knowing Becca she’d have told him that without any of the wine too. 

Lost in reflection, the mother-son dance went by in a blur. His mom had picked an easy waltz – something he could practically do in his sleep after all the hours practicing with Becca as a kid. Bucky’d gotten a lot of grief from Coulson, Clint’s choreographer, when that fact had come to light. He claimed Bucky was keeping secrets from him, and had completely rewritten the program despite Bucky’s protests that he hadn’t done any serious dancing in over a decade and had definitely never done it on the ice. 

One time before Bucky had focused entirely on hockey and Becca had found a new dance partner, a couple of his teammates had decided that dancing made him gay and a sissy. It turned out they weren’t wrong about the gay thing, but it had started his first real on-ice fight and it had taken a few well-placed blows from his coach’s stick to break up the subsequent brawl. 

In the end, though, Bucky had to thank them. Coach had placed him in the goalie position to let him cool off and the sharp uptick in their team’s saves made it clear he’d made the right decision. Even after the accident Bucky maintained a higher save rate than most of his opposing goalies - a fact he hoped would influence the Olympic committee in a few years’ time. 

Bucky’s mom reached up as the music faded out and pulled Bucky’s face down. She planted a kiss on his forehead, and he wrapped her in a tight hug. He was so lucky to have his family. 

“Love you, Ma,” he whispered. 

“I love you too,” she told him, returning the hug. “Now tell Clint to get out here.” 

Bucky raised an eyebrow as she pushed him away and made a shooing motion towards Clint. He shrugged and walked over to where Clint was standing at the edge of the dance floor beaming like an idiot. He gave Clint a long kiss, their friends cheering again, before jerking a thumb over his shoulder. 

“My Ma wants you.” 

Clint’s brows furrowed. “What? Why?” 

Bucky shrugged again. “I dunno, I just do what she asks.” 

“I guess that means I do what she asks now too,” Clint said with a smile, leaning over to give him a peck on the cheek. “Be good while I’m gone,” he said, sticking his tongue out and heading over to the dance floor where Bucky’s mom was waiting for him. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Bucky’s mouth dropped open. “That’s… I could literally do anything, you weirdo,” Bucky called after him. 

Clint made an “I can’t hear you” gesture even though he clearly could because he’d  _ turned around _ to tell Bucky that. He couldn’t believe how much he loved this punk. 

Bucky was watching his mom give Clint a hug when someone at his shoulder spoke.

“That’s sweet.” 

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he realized the voice had come from Natasha. 

“Jesus lady, don’t do that!” he yelped, hoping he wasn’t going to die on his wedding day; they’d been civil with each other after Bucky and Clint got back together, but she’d made it very clear she was only tolerating him for Clint’s sake. Natasha probably wouldn’t murder him in front of all their wedding guests, but he wouldn’t put it past her to lure him away before doing the deed. “My life insurance isn’t that good,” he told her. “Clint won’t get much of a payout if you kill me now.” 

Natasha laughed, an unsettling sound that did nothing to calm Bucky’s fears. “I’d have killed you long before now if I was going to,” she informed him frankly. “I don’t know what he sees in you, but you make Clint happy. Even with an amazing life insurance policy it wouldn’t be worth the moping I’d have to put up with if I killed you now.” 

Bucky wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be comforting. “Uhh, thanks?” 

“You’re welcome. You think Clint’s noticed he hasn’t taken off his skates?” 

Bucky looked back at Clint, who was towering over his mom with the extra few inches the skates gave him. “Probably not,” he said. “Probably just threw the guards on and forgot the rest of the world isn’t actually that short. I still wanna know wha- Oh Fuck,” he interrupted himself as he realized why his mom had called Clint out to the dance floor. 

“Just figured that out?” Natasha asked, clearly having known what was going on the whole time. 

Bucky put his face in his hands. “Why would she choose  _ this _ song?” he whined. 

Natasha patted his back and he tried not to flinch. “It’s a classic?” 

“It’s fuckin’ cruel is what it is,” Bucky snapped. “He’s not gonna make it halfway through that song without bawling.” 

She looked at Bucky with a frown. “Halfway? He already is,” she told him, gesturing to the dance floor. 

Natasha was right, Bucky realized as he looked up. Clint already had his face buried in his mom’s hair, shoulders shaking with repressed sobs as she guided them across the floor. Sometimes his mom was the worst, he thought as they listened to Bette Midler croon about the night being too lonely and the road too long. She knew none of Clint’s family would be at the wedding, so she’d decided to spring a mother-son dance on him with the sappiest song in existence.

“At least it’s not Fury,” Natasha murmured. “I know Clint asked if he wanted to do the ‘father-daughter’ dance with him.” 

Bucky repressed a shudder. That image was too awful to think about. It had been weird enough Clint had insisted Fury give him away. “Like a used handkerchief,” he’d laughed when he told Bucky about it. “You don’t really want it anymore, but you keep it around because you might need to use it again.” 

“I think your analogy needs some work,” Bucky had told him. “Or your self-confidence.” 

“Probably both,” Clint had replied. 

Bucky couldn’t disagree with that. 

When Bucky’s mom was done torturing his new husband, they walked back to Bucky hand in hand. Clint still had tears streaming down his face, and Bucky’s mom was looking suspiciously bright-eyed as well. 

“That was cruel, Ma,” he told her as Natasha produced a handkerchief from somewhere to dab at Clint’s face. 

“No,” Clint protested, flapping a hand vaguely in Bucky’s direction while Natasha dealt with his face. “That was perfect. Your mom’s the best. I’m keeping her.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There's a brief mention of suicide and child abuse in this chapter.

Clint sprinted across the quad, dodging his fellow athletes and occasionally running through the grass, praying he wouldn’t slip on a wet patch of fallen leaves and fall flat on his face as he rushed to get to the rink. He had promised Bucky he’d be there for the Howlies’ first home game of the season against that Canadian Moose team, but Fury had kept them late, refusing to let him go until he’d done the new lift pattern cleanly three times in a row.

He was wearing one of the jerseys Bucky had given him over his sweaty practice clothes, not having bothered to change before running out the door. He usually complained about them being too big, but today he was thankful that hockey jerseys were so enormous. Even though Clint was wearing a full set of clothes underneath, he was still swimming in the thing.

“What’s the score?” he panted at the doorman who scanned his ticket.

“3-1, Howlies,” the doorman told him, handing the ticket back with a mild look of disgust. Clint assumed the look was about the ticket being a bit damp and sweaty from being clutched in his hand, not because of the score.

“Great, thanks!” he said, jogging inside and making a beeline for the friends and family box. The Howlies were ahead, which was great, but Bucky had let in a goal, which would probably be eating at him. Even though he had one of the best save percentages in the AHL, Bucky had a tendency to dwell on the ones he missed.

Clint got a few glares as he scooted across people to get to his seat, but he was more focused on the game at hand. It wasn’t his fault they made the aisles so narrow he practically had to crawl across people’s laps – he had a husband to cheer on.

As he settled into his seat, it looked like the Howlies had possession if the player in black and blue speeding down the rink with the puck was any indication. Number 72, that was Ralston? Wait, no, Rob played defense. Maybe it was Jones?

The player spun, swinging behind the opposing defense to pass the puck, and a glance at the back of his jersey confirmed number 72 was, in fact, Gabe Jones.

Clint had once asked Bucky if they could tell each other apart on the ice since they were moving so fast and all wearing the same thing. Bucky had stared at him in confusion before saying of course they could, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Clint didn’t think it was obvious at all. By now he knew all the players on the Howling Commandos, but hell if he could tell them apart when they were in uniform. With all that gear they looked exactly the damn same. Except for Bucky, of course. The custom art on his helmet (designed by Steve when they were still playing youth hockey and painted on every helmet since), the extra-bulky goalie uniform, and the fact he was always in front of the goal would set Bucky apart every time.

While Clint was zoning out for a few seconds, one of the Moose had taken possession of the puck and was hurtling down the ice towards Bucky, teammates and Howlies in close pursuit.

Clint watched, knuckles white as the opposing players bore down on Bucky. The puck flicked from player to player, faster than Clint could follow, then suddenly Bucky was flat on the ice, legs spread and arms flailing madly. Morita (the back of his jersey visible to Clint) slammed into the boards behind the goal, momentum overtaking him in his rush to assist. Dugan, apparently more nimble and always recognizable with his mustache, sped around the back of the goal, dodging the opposing players. Clint saw a flash of black next to his stick as he took off down the rink, so apparently Bucky had made a save!

“Yeah!” Clint yelled, jumping out of his seat and waving his arms as the rest of the wives and girlfriends - colloquially known as WAGs - around him cheered. Even if some of their traditions were still a bit sexist and outdated, he had to admit hockey was a lot more interactive than a skating competition.

Plus, the intermission entertainment was way better. Cheering on toddlers as they tried to play hockey was always a great time, and there was that one time Clint had gotten to race a tricycle across the ice. He’d come in dead last because his legs were way too long to pedal properly, but it had been a great time nonetheless. 

Clint glanced at the scoreboard as he sat back down and realized with dismay the game was already halfway through the third period. Damn Fury and his perfectionism; he’d already missed most of the game.

Try as he may, Clint had a difficult time following the game. Everything just moved so fast, and while you’d think it wouldn’t be hard to see a black puck on the white ice, once the sticks and players got added it just looked like chaos. This was far from the first game Clint had been to and Bucky kept telling him he’d get it eventually, but Clint didn’t see how it was possible. 

It probably didn’t help that he kept looking away from the action to stare at Bucky. 

He just… loved to watch Bucky doing what he did best. That intense focus he reserved for his job was impressive to watch. 

“YAHHHH!” the folks around Clint erupted with hoots and whistles and a loud horn went off. 

Clint startled and looked down to the opposing goal where the Howlies were clustering, giving hugs and pats to one of their own. Another quick glance at the scoreboard confirmed that the Howlies had scored another goal. Up 4-1 in the second half of the third period put them in a relatively safe position, but it meant the Moose would really be feeling the pressure to pick up their offense. That wasn’t great news for Bucky.

Thankfully Bucky seemed to be on the ball (on the puck?) tonight. Clint watched as he slammed to his knees over and over, deflecting the puck and directing it to a teammate or trapping it safely under his glove. No matter how many times he watched Bucky play, it never failed to be impressive. Clint knew what kind of effort that up and down motion took on the ice, and Bucky was doing it wearing like fifty pounds of gear.

The game ended without any more goals from either side, and Clint made his way down to the locker rooms with the rest of the WAGs. One of the moms was having trouble with a fussy baby and an impatient toddler, so Clint wound up outside the locker room with Dugan’s kid perched on his shoulders.

“Jesus, Clint, did you steal someone’s kid?” Bucky asked when he walked out of the locker room.

“Yep,” Clint joked with a smile at Dugan’s frazzled-looking wife. “She’s mine now.”

“You’re welcome to her,” she said with a tired smile as the kid shrieked “DADDY!” at the top of her lungs.

Clint winced. “You know, on second thought you guys can keep her.”

Bucky laughed as Dugan reached up to pluck his daughter off Clint’s shoulders.

“Not so cute when she’s screaming in your ears?”

“Still cute, just loud,” Clint said, reaching over to ruffle her hair. She giggled and as he turned to give Bucky his celebratory hug he noticed a look of longing on his face which morphed quickly into a smile as soon as he saw Clint looking at him. Huh. Interesting.

“You ready to blow this joint?” Bucky asked and Clint nodded, filing that information away for further analysis. 

*

The next six months brought a lot of changes to Clint and Bucky’s lives, but if Clint thought married life would be drastically different from unmarried life, he was both right and wrong. 

They’d moved into a shared dorm room after the wedding and were talking about finding an apartment near the Stark Complex, but both of their busy seasons had started shortly after the honeymoon. That left them in the usual pattern of eat, sleep, go to competition or practice, and repeat. It didn’t give them much time together as Bucky travelled a lot for games, Clint travelled for competitions, and there were weeks when they barely saw each other. 

After the hockey playoffs ended – Clint’s season was a little shorter than Bucky’s – apartment hunting had started in earnest.

At first Clint had wanted to find a place they could afford by splitting the rent evenly, but it soon became apparent that wasn’t going to leave them with a lot of options. Bucky made decent money playing with the AHL, but Clint’s main source of income was from coaching the youth skating classes he managed to fit in between his own practices. The income disparity was extremely evident, but Clint’s sense of pride didn’t want to allow Bucky to completely shoulder the burden of their rent. Eventually Bucky stopped waiting for him to come to his senses and sat him down for a lecture.

“We’re married, Clint,” Bucky had told him, sounding exasperated. “What’s mine is yours and I have to be living there too. If we had to find a place that works with your income, we’d end up on the top floor of some eight-story walkup in the ghetto. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not haul a couch up that many flights of stairs or get mugged coming home from practice late at night.” 

And yeah, Clint supposed he had a point there. While Bucky was always ready to throw down and could definitely hold his own in a fight, Clint would be out on the sidewalk crying if someone tried to steal his skates. His pride could take a hit if it meant living in a little more safety and comfort. 

So eventually they’d found a nice place close to the Stark complex and for the first time in his adult life, Clint wasn’t living in a dorm room. That was unexpectedly nice and sharing it with Bucky was even nicer. 

Tonight Clint was lounging on the couch and waiting for a pizza delivery (cheat day, yes!) when the doorbell rang. That was weird – he’d just gotten the text update that his pizza had gone in the oven. Maybe they’d upgraded with a time machine? 

Clint opened the door for the pizza delivery and instead found a panting and sweaty Steve on their doorstep. 

“You’re not pizza,” he said, confused. 

Steve looked broken. “I… is Bucky here?” he stammered, clenching his fists like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. 

“No?” Clint said, still confused as to why Steve was standing on their doorstep. “He went to group - he’ll be back in a couple hours?” 

“Oh.” Steve looked lost. 

“Uhhh, do you wanna come in?” Clint asked, stepping aside and gesturing into the apartment. 

Steve hesitated before walking in from the hallway. Clint closed the door behind him. 

“Is everything okay?” he asked Steve. 

To Clint’s shock and dismay, Steve’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Fury dropped me as a student,” he told Clint, voice ragged. 

Ohhhhh. Fuck. Clint was probably the last person Steve wanted to be talking to right now. Fury was dropping students to spend more time coaching him and Nat, and Steve was the collateral damage. Of course, if Clint was being honest, Steve was never going to make it as a serious figure skater. He’d never say it to Steve’s face, but he just didn’t have that innate grace you needed in the figure skating world. 

“I’m so sorry,” Clint said quietly, not sure what else to say. “Do you want to stay? Pizza should be here soon.” 

Steve nodded, breathing in the purposeful way people did when trying not to cry. Shit. He was so not prepared for this. Curse Fury for not giving him a heads up. He knew Clint was married to Steve’s best friend, he should have known something like this might happen. 

“I, uhh, gotta pee,” Clint said inelegantly, pointing in the general vicinity of his bathroom. “Make yourself at home, there should be some beer in the fridge if you want some.” 

Steve nodded dumbly, and Clint made a hasty retreat to the bathroom. 

“ _Fury dropped Steve as a student_ ,” Clint typed frantically into his phone. “ _Take an Uber home from group, I need backup ASAP_.” 

Dr. Xavier was incredibly strict about his no phones policy, so Clint knew Bucky wouldn’t get the message until his group therapy session was over. But Clint wanted him home as soon as possible after that. None of this hour on the train coming home from the Bronx business Bucky usually did after group. 

Flushing the toilet and washing his hands to keep up the ruse, Clint stepped out of the bathroom, trying not to let his panic show. How was he supposed to make small talk with the guy who got shafted because of Clint? 

Steve was curled up in what Clint liked to call the “sulk armchair” when Clint walked into the living room. It was an ugly floral oversized armchair that Bucky had picked up for $30 at a thrift store shortly after moving into their place. It was threadbare in a couple of places, so they’d bought a soft grey slipcover to sit over the top of it. They kept a stack of their coziest blankets draped over the back, one of which Steve currently had wrapped around his shoulders. 

Clint flopped on the couch across from Steve. “You wanna talk about it?” he asked. 

Steve shook his head, rolling an unopened beer bottle between his hands. 

Great. Now what? 

“Uhhh, nice weather we’re having?” Aw, mouth, no. Did he actually say that out loud?

Judging from the look on Steve’s face, yeah, he definitely did. “Clint, it’s been like a hundred degrees for a week straight.” 

“Yeah, and you look like you ran here all the way from the gym,” Clint countered. The best defense was a good offense, right? Steve should appreciate that since he used to be a hockey player. 

“Because I did…” Steve replied, blinking slowly. 

“Jesus, that’s like eight miles!” Clint yelped, offense forgotten. “Are you trying to die of heat stroke?” 

Steve shrugged. “It’s not that far. I needed to burn off the energy.” 

Clint put his head in his hands. He liked Steve, but clearly the guy was batshit insane. You know, besides the whole getting kicked out of the hockey league for attacking an opposing coach - who had, admittedly, been a racist scumbag and totally deserved it - and trying to become a figure skater thing. Eight miles was way too far for any sane person to be running in this heat. 

“I’m sorry about that,” Clint said awkwardly to fill the mounting silence. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t know Fury would be dropping you.” 

Steve sighed. “So much for not talking about it.”

“Hey, if you’ve got any better topics I’m all ears,” Clint said. “Well, all hearing aids,” he amended. 

Steve snorted. “I can’t believe Bucky puts up with this.” 

“Hey now,” Clint protested. “I’m hilarious and Bucky loves my jokes.” Putting him in a headlock and threatening to gag him totally meant Bucky loved the jokes, right? 

“You keep telling yourself that, buddy,” Steve said, sarcasm dripping off his voice. 

“I will,” Clint said, crossing his arms over his chest. “So you got any better topics or what?” 

Steve opened his mouth, but closed it again before saying anything. His brows furrowed and he frowned. “Fuck, we really don’t have anything else to talk about, do we?” he asked finally. “We live our whole lives on the ice; there’s no room left for anything else.” 

Clint made a face and raised his hands in a helpless gesture. Steve wasn’t wrong. 

“Did you have a life before figure skating?” Steve asked. 

Clint blanched slightly. He didn’t like talking about that life, but if anyone deserved to hear that story it was probably Steve right now. He could do with a reminder that not everyone got where they needed to be by following the straight path. Sometimes you got from point A to point B by way of detours G, K, and T. 

“I was supposed to be a hockey player, actually,” Clint said quietly, looking at his hands. He could feel Steve’s eyes on him, but kept his eyes averted. He couldn’t make eye contact for this story. “We usually shared the ice with the figure skating classes, and I ended up falling in love with that instead.” 

“I’m sure you know the stereotype - boy likes something considered ‘girly’ and gets hell for it. It wasn’t any different for me, except it wasn’t the hockey kids beating the shit out of me. I had my dad for that. 

“I guess skating was as much of an escape as anything. It was something I liked, something I was good at, somewhere I could go when everything at home was just too much. I ran away at twelve when I got scouted by Cirque and never looked back.” 

Steve’s face was whiter than usual when Clint finally looked up. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, eyes wide. “I didn’t know.” 

Clint shrugged. “I know. It’s not something I tell people. But that’s my advice, Steve. Find something you love and never look back.” Clint paused before deciding to hell with it, it was time to rip off the bandaid. “Figure skating wasn’t it, and we both know that,” he told him. 

If anything, Steve’s face went even whiter. “It was supposed to be hockey,” he said, looking down to stare blankly at the beer bottle that was still in his hands. 

Clint was saved from responding by the buzzing of the doorbell and the arrival of pizza. 

“I hope you like mushrooms and sausage,” he told Steve as he walked back into the living room with the pizza box and a couple of plates. Steve hadn’t moved, and was still staring at the beer bottle, which was only mildly concerning. 

“That’s fine,” Steve replied woodenly. 

Clint handed him a plate with a couple of slices of pizza on it, and Steve barely looked up. He hoped he hadn’t broken Bucky’s best friend. 

“... and then my sleeve caught fire on the candle and Bucky threw me into the pool,” Clint babbled, filling the awkward silence with stories from their honeymoon, when Steve’s head swiveled towards the door. He must have heard Bucky’s key in the lock, because a moment later the door opened and Steve was out of the armchair and throwing himself at Bucky. 

“Bucky, I ruined both of our lives,” Steve sobbed into his shoulder, dropping the calm front he’d apparently been putting on for Clint. 

“Woah, Stevie, my life ain’t ruined,” Bucky said, wrapping his arms around his friend and kicking the door shut with his foot. “What are you going on about?” 

Steve clutched at Bucky like a life preserver. “It’s all because I attacked Coach Red that everything is terrible and nothing will be right ever again,” he sobbed. 

Clint thought that sounded overly dramatic, but decided to stay out of it. This was Bucky’s problem now. He leaned back on the couch with another slice of pizza and did his best to politely ignore what was happening by the front door. 

Bucky patted Steve on the back. “Steve, you stood up for what was right. It sucks that you got kicked out of the league, but sometimes punching Nazis means making huge sacrifices. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do it. Just look at our grandpas.” 

Unable to ignore the drama, Clint peered over the back of the couch in time to see Steve lift his head to stare at Bucky. “Buck, you never met your grandpas because one never made it back from the war and the other one ate his gun like three years after getting back.” 

Bucky shrugged, apparently unconcerned. “I mean, definitely don’t follow in the footsteps of Grandpa Jimmy, but they still did the right thing about the Nazis.” 

“What’m I supposed to do now?” Steve practically wailed, dropping his head back on Bucky’s shoulder. “I can’t play hockey, I’m no good at skating; am I stuck flipping burgers the rest of my life?” 

“You could go to college,” Bucky suggested at the same time Clint blurted out, “Don’t insult food service workers.” 

Steve and Bucky both turned to look at Clint. 

“What?” he asked. “Food service workers are some of the hardest working people out there.” 

Steve and Bucky kept staring at him. 

“Oh, was I not supposed to be listening?” he asked. “You’re having feelings all over the entryway. How was I supposed to ignore that?” 

“I’m sure you could figure something out,” Bucky groused. “Unlike some of us, you’ve got ears you can turn off. You’re just bein’ nosy.” 

“Well duh,” Clint said, unashamed. “Listening to you try and give a pep talk is the best entertainment I’ve had all month.” 

Bucky’s offended face was hilarious, but Clint was happy to see the beginnings of a smile on Steve’s face. 

“Promise me you’ll never become a motivational speaker,” Clint continued as Steve’s smile grew. “I think you’ll have people giving you money to stop talking.” 

Steve let out a bark of laughter and Bucky glanced between the two of them, frowning. “I’d like to hear you do better,” he grumbled. 

“Oh honey, I already did,” Clint told him. “I’m great at pep talks. I’ve had enough practice giving them to you.” 

Bucky looked at Steve, who shrugged and nodded in confirmation. “He told me to find something I love and never look back,” he said. 

“And that was damn good advice,” Clint said, twisting to kneel backwards on the couch and crossing his arms over the back. “I don’t know what I was thinking, waiting for you to get home and take over when I’m clearly better at this than you are.” 

“Fine,” Bucky snapped. “You can tell Steve how he hasn’t ruined everyone’s life if you’re so great at this.” 

“I will,” Clint announced as Bucky steered a bewildered but smiling Steve over to the couch. Steve sat in the middle and Clint turned and settled back into the couch, pushing the pizza box towards Bucky with his foot. 

“Okay, first of all, you can’t ruin Bucky’s life because I married him so I call dibs on that. Second of all, he lost his arm before you attacked Coach Red, so you don’t get to blame yourself for that either.” 

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You call this a pep talk?” he asked through a mouthful of pizza. 

“I’m just getting certain facts out of the way,” Clint insisted. Steve, bless his heart, had never really managed to get out of the team captain mindset and still had the tendency to try and shoulder the responsibilities of the world. “So, the only life you’re eligible for ruining is your own and short of following in the footsteps of Grandpa Jimmy, that’s something you can always fix.”

Clint reached over to take Steve’s hands in his, giving himself a moment to think about what he wanted to say next. 

“The way I see it, you’ve got two options. You can wallow in regret, getting stuck on what should have been, or you can accept what’s in front of you and make the best with what you have.” 

“I don’t know what I have,” Steve told him with a stricken expression. 

“You’ve got me,” Bucky said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders from behind. “And you’ve got Clint and you’ve got Tony and you’ve got the team.” 

Clint gave Steve’s hands an encouraging squeeze. “You don’t have figure skating, but you have so much more. You have so many options open to you. You could go to college like Bucky suggested. You could coach kids’ hockey – since you were team captain, I bet you’d be great at that. You could take up boxing – with your penchant for hitting people, I bet you’d be great at that too.” 

Steve hung his head, chin resting on Bucky’s arm. “But I wanted to go to the Olympics,” he all but whispered. 

Clint took a deep breath. Of course he did. The one thing every athlete dreamed of and very few achieved. He and Natasha had been the lucky ones. Without hockey, Steve had a better chance of being eaten by a shark. Without swimming in the ocean. 

Bucky nestled his chin between Steve’s neck and shoulder while giving Clint a look that clearly said ‘so how are you going to fix this?’. 

Game on. 

“Okay then,” Clint said, releasing Steve’s hands to cross his arms over his chest, “we’ll just have to find you another sport. How do you feel about wrestling?” 

Steve’s face said he had a lot of feelings about wrestling and none of them were good. “I don’t think wrestling’s for me,” he said diplomatically. 

“You’re shit at figure skating, so gymnastics is probably out,” Bucky said less diplomatically. 

Clint snorted. “Skiing?” he asked. Steve shook his head. “Bobsled?” Steve looked contemplative, but still shook his head. 

“Curling?” Bucky asked. 

“Do I look like I’m Canadian?” Steve replied. 

Clint blinked slowly. “You’re blond-haired, blue-eyed, and obsessed with hockey. I’m not sure how much more Canadian you could get, eh” he said with a terrible Canadian accent. 

“Point taken, but no.” 

“Hey, what about speed skating?” Bucky asked. 

It was Steve’s turn to blink slowly. “Maybe?” he said hesitantly. 

“I think Fury knows a guy,” Clint said, excited that Bucky had hit on a possibility. “We met him at the last Olympics, Pietro Maximoff? I’m pretty sure he just retired from competition and moved to the US and was hoping to coach at the Stark Complex. I can ask Coach about him tomorrow.” 

“Do you think he’d introduce me?” Steve asked, nerves evident in his voice. 

Bucky put Steve in a headlock. “Course he would, you punk. Fury doesn’t hate you. Clint’s just too needy.” 

Clint nodded. It wasn’t the most elegant way to put it, but that was the essence of the matter. He and Natasha simply needed more time than Fury could give without dropping time from his other students. Steve wouldn’t be the only unhappy figure skater around tomorrow. Too bad they couldn’t all take up speed skating. 

“And you know,” Bucky continued, releasing Steve from his headlock but leaving his arm draped across his shoulder, “if you hadn’t got kicked out’a the league and taken up figure skating I never would’a met Clint.”

“And that,” Clint said with a grin, “would have been the ultimate tragedy.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The one in which Steve is not pizza. :D
> 
> This is probably where I should mention that I'm not actually a sports fan. Why am I writing a sports-based AU then? Great question. Apparently I'm as nuts as the people who do ice sports.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: A character has a panic attack in this chapter.

Pre-season practices had finally started in earnest, and Bucky was working on some post-play drills when a flash of purple caught his eye from outside the rink. He dropped to his knees and blocked a shot from Dernier, then glanced up to take a better look, feeling a bit silly that anything purple always made him take a second look to see if it was Clint.

Today, though, Bucky felt justified because it actually was Clint. His husband gave him a wave when he saw him look over, then propped a foot up on the plexiglass separating the rink from the stands to stretch into an upright split. He reached his arms over his head, holding on to his foot as he held the position. Bucky tried to refocus on the drill but more movement caught his eye as Clint released the stretch and changed feet.

“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath, knowing Clint knew full well how distracting he was being, the loveable jerk. Bucky should start juggling on the side of the rink during Clint’s practices and see how he liked it.

“Focus, Barnes!” Peggy yelled, sending a slapshot his way. Bucky threw his blocker up a second too late, and the puck whizzed past his head into the goal. “There will always be rink side distractions – it’s your job to ignore them!”

“Yes, Coach,” Bucky said, once again trying to focus on the task at hand and once again being distracted, this time by Morita who was crouched low on the ice, hugging the boards as he skated towards the spot Clint was stretching. When he was directly in front of Clint, he gave Bucky a wink and popped to his feet, arms outstretched to make himself as large as possible.

The shriek Clint let out could probably have been heard by the swimmers in the natatorium two buildings away and Bucky doubled over with laughter. When he stood up straight again, Morita had taken off his glove and was giving him a thumbs up. Clint, behind him, was rubbing the back of his head and looking put out. 

Bucky felt more than saw the puck headed his way and dropped to his knees reflexively. The rubber disc bounced off a leg pad and he flicked it out of the way with his stick. Another puck came flying towards him high and to the left. He pushed off the goal post to lever himself back to his feet and threw out his glove, hearing the puck slap into his palm. He tossed it to the side as Peggy sent another puck his way. Bucky dove right, feeling the puck hit his chest protector before landing flat on the ice.

He scrambled back to his feet, centering himself in front of the goal, knees bent slightly towards each other in anticipation of a shot to the five-hole. As expected, the next shot came low and fast and Bucky dropped to the butterfly position. As the puck bounced off his stick, he hauled himself back to his feet, panting at the quick succession of saves.

“Nice job, Barnes,” Peggy called out as the rest of the team skated over, bumping his shoulders with their gloves or patting him on the head.

“I think you impressed your boy over there,” Falsworth said with a smile, gesturing to the side of the rink where Clint was standing, palms pressed flat against the plexiglass and openly staring.

Bucky raised his stick to give Clint a salute and said to Falsworth, “You know, I think you may be right.”

After practice ended, Bucky found out Clint wasn’t hanging out at the rink solely to harass him. He was also waiting for him so they could get groceries together on their way home. Because Clint was sweet like that and ‘might as well put that fancy metal arm to use hauling groceries’ as he lovingly told Bucky with a kiss after meeting him outside the locker room.

*

Bucky smiled dopily, watching Clint carrying his bags of groceries as they walked down the street. It was silly, but even after a year of marriage sometimes just the realization that he was married to this wonderful man just made his heart want to burst. It made him feel like a total sap, but even something as simple as grocery shopping together felt like happiness beyond his wildest dreams. He’d never imagined something besides hockey could ever make him this happy. 

While Bucky was busy grinning at his husband, Clint frowned suddenly, eyes narrowed as he looked towards the street. Bucky followed his gaze and saw - shit - a dog standing in the street. He felt more than saw Clint’s shoulders tense, and he dropped the grocery bags he was carrying to grab Clint around the waist before he could run out into traffic. Clint screamed, clawing at Bucky’s hands and fighting against his grip, but Bucky bent his knees, lowering his center of gravity and held fast. 

He heard the squeal of brakes, then a thump and a pained howl. Clint let out a similar howl and Bucky tightened his grip, fighting down the panic he always felt when he heard the loud squeal of brakes. He had a good idea of what that dog was going through, but he couldn’t let Clint run into moving traffic, no matter how hard he struggled. Bucky looked up in time to see the car that had hit the dog zoom off, and he fought down a surge of anger and the desire to run after the car and beat the driver’s face in. 

When the rush of cars stopped, Bucky released Clint and followed him as he dashed into the street. Clint knelt by the pile of golden fur, reaching his hand out to tentatively stroke its head. Bucky was shocked when the dog lifted its head, letting out a heartbreaking whine. He thought for sure the poor thing hadn’t made it. 

Before Bucky realized what was happening, Clint had whipped off his jacket and had the dog blanketed in his arms. 

“Find me the nearest emergency vet,” Clint snapped angrily, marching down the street. 

Thankfully the nearest vet was only a few blocks away. Clint was single-mindedly walking down the street, talking soothingly to the dog as Bucky trailed helplessly behind, trying not to think about the trail of blood they were leaving in their wake. The coppery smell was triggering some unpleasant memories that he’d rather not relive at the moment. Clint was pretty clearly freaking out; the last thing they needed was for Bucky to lose it too. 

Clint burst into the veterinarian’s office, startling several people sitting in the waiting area. “Somebody needs to fix this dog,” he demanded loudly. 

Before Bucky could process what was happening, the dog was whisked away to one room and his husband to another, presumably for emergency treatment and some washing up, respectively. Unsure what to do with himself, Bucky sat on an uncomfortable plastic chair next to a lady holding a miniature pig. 

When Clint emerged several minutes later, he was wearing a set of scrubs and holding a black plastic garbage bag. Bucky had a moment of panic before realizing the bag was much too small to be holding the dog, and probably contained Clint’s bloody clothes, hence the scrubs. 

Clint beelined towards Bucky and dropped into the chair next to him. He leaned over and wrapped his arms around him, planting his face heavily in the center of Bucky’s chest. “I know you probably saved my life, but right now I’m really angry that you didn’t let me get that dog out of traffic. I don’t know how I’m going to forgive you if it dies.” 

Bucky clamped down on yet another wave of panic. Today seemed bound and determined to give him an ulcer. Clint had acknowledged he’d saved his life, so he knew it was just the stress talking, but the thought of Clint hating him was enough to make him feel nauseous. He closed his eyes and hugged Clint tighter. “That dog’s lucky to have someone like you looking out for him,” Bucky said raggedly. “Let’s just hope he’s a fighter.” 

Clint let out a sob. “I’m so scared for him Bucky. He didn’t fight me, even though I could tell picking him up was hurting him. You didn’t see his eyes. They were so full of trust, even when I was hurting him.” 

The lady with the pig was giving them a curious look, but Bucky ignored that and kept his attention on Clint who was still sobbing into his shirt. 

“You got him here as fast as you could,” Bucky said, tentatively running his hands through Clint’s hair. “No matter what happens, he trusted you to help him. You couldn’t have done that if you’d been hit by the car too.” 

“I know,” Clint whimpered. “I hate it, but I know.” 

Bucky spent the next few hours with Clint uncomfortably curled up in his arms. He was pretty sure both his legs were asleep, but he didn’t want to move Clint after he’d finally relaxed and fallen asleep himself. 

At least he was able to get some good meditation in. His therapist was always complaining that he didn’t carve out enough time for the mindfulness training she wanted him to do. Between Clint’s weight and the hard plastic chair, this was a good way to practice putting physical discomforts out of his mind. 

Bucky was startled out of his daze when a person in scrubs tapped him on the shoulder. “Sorry, did you say something?” He wanted to ask if the dog had made it, but he was afraid to hear the answer. 

The scrubs-person gave him a tired smile. “It was pretty touch and go for a bit, but your dog made it through.” 

Bucky sagged with relief and let out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. 

“He lost an eye and he’s got a broken leg, a broken pelvis, and a couple broken ribs, but he should be okay with some rest and care.” 

“Does… does he have a microchip?” Bucky asked, not wanting to know if the answer was yes. He didn’t think Clint would be willing to walk away from this dog if it had an owner. 

“He’s not yours?” Scrubs asked, looking surprised. 

Bucky shook his head. “We just saw him get hit by a car and rushed him here.” 

Scrubs’ eyes darkened. “Some people shouldn’t have pets, but I’ll get the reader and go check.”

Bucky thought about waking Clint up to tell him the good news, but decided to wait until Scrubs came back. If the dog had an owner, he didn't want to get Clint's hopes up only to crush them back down. 

Scrubs returned a few minutes later. “No microchip,” they said. “We can bring him to a no kill shelter, but he'll do better recovering in a home…” they trailed off, giving Bucky a pointed look. 

Bucky shook his head vigorously, the tension in his gut starting to unfurl at the lack of microchip, but tightening again at the thought of the dog going to a shelter. “No, no, we'll take him.” He should probably be asking Clint before he made this kind of decision, but he'd seen Clint's face when he looked at the dog. There was no way they’d be leaving the dog at a shelter. “Can you bring us the paperwork while I wake him up?” he asked, gesturing to Clint. 

Scrubs smiled. “Of course. He’s lucky to have people like you looking out for him.” 

Bucky shook Clint’s shoulder as Scrubs walked over to the reception area. The lady with the pig had long since left, and the waiting area was empty except for them. “Hey,” he said quietly, continuing to shake Clint’s shoulder as Clint mumbled incoherently. “Time to wake up and take our lucky pup home.” 

“What?” That got Clint’s attention, and Bucky winced as an elbow dug into his thigh. Yep, his legs were definitely asleep. “He made it? He’s okay?” 

“He’s pretty damn banged up, but he’ll be okay,” Bucky said, running his fingers through Clint’s hair. “It's a good thing we moved out of the dorms, huh?”

Clint's eyes widened. “We can take him home? You don't mind?” 

Bucky pressed a kiss onto Clint's forehead. “Sweetheart, you almost killed yourself for this dog. You think I'd make you leave him at a shelter?”

Clint gave Bucky a tight squeeze before climbing off his lap. “Oh man, look at us being all domestic. We just need our white picket fence and two point five kids.”

“We're having more than that, Darlin’,” Bucky said with a smile. “I came from a big family. I want at least six kids.” 

“Oh wow,” Clint laughed, “I guess my one dog is small potatoes compared to that.” 

Bucky stood up, grimacing as the feeling came back into his legs. He massaged his thighs as Scrubs came back with a clipboard full of paper. “Our one dog,” he corrected, standing up and wrapping Clint in another hug before taking the clipboard. This was an awful lot of paperwork for one dog. 

“Yeah,” Clint agreed happily, leaning his head on Bucky’s shoulder. “And our six kids.” 

“Yup.” He turned to Scrubs. “When can we meet our new dog?” 

“He’s still coming out of sedation, but you can see him now if you want. I’ll print out instructions for care, and we can go over anything you have questions about. We can also schedule a follow up appointment for next week to make sure everything’s healing up as it should be.” 

Scrubs led them through a brightly lit corridor before guiding them through a doorway. The dog was lying on a stainless steel table and covered in bandages. 

“Aww, pupper,” Clint whined, rushing over to the dog and laying a gentle hand on its head. 

Bucky was frozen in the doorway. The room smelled strongly of antiseptic with a faint undercurrent of blood and sweat. He swallowed a few times and closed his eyes, trying to fight the wave of nausea triggered by the smell. He took a couple deep breaths through his mouth, but it didn’t seem to help. 

The screeching of tires mixed with the scream of train brakes in Bucky’s head as a memory of bright lights and bouncing ceiling tiles flashed through his mind unbidden. He heard Steve screaming his name, and his prosthetic arm spasmed erratically as his muscles tightened in remembered pain. 

Bucky bolted out of the room into the corridor, where he pressed his back into the wall and slid down until he was sitting on the floor. He gasped, arm wrapped around his knees and sucking in air. Shit. He hadn’t had a panic attack like that in years. 

“Sir?” Scrubs asked, concerned face swimming into Bucky’s view. He should probably figure out what their name was at some point, he thought, distracted. “Are you all right?” 

“Sorry,” Bucky apologised. “I have some bad memories of hospitals.” 

“I understand,” Scrubs said, nodding at his left arm. “I served in the Navy before going to veterinary school. I guess you could say I’m a double vet.” 

Bucky grinned at them, trying to relax. Clint would love that joke. 

“Where did you serve?” 

Bucky sighed and shook his head. He got this a lot. Young, athletic, and missing an arm - everyone just assumed he’d been in the military. “Oh no, I’m not a vet of either variety. I just had an altercation with a train.” 

“Oh, wow. I’m sorry for assuming,” they said, sounding genuinely embarrassed. 

“It’s fine, I get that a-” 

Bucky was cut off as Clint ran into the corridor. “Bucky? Buck?!” His head swiveled back and forth until he spotted them on the floor and rushed over. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Bucky huffed as Clint started patting him down as if to make sure he was still in one piece. “I had a panic attack. I’m fine. Doctor uhhhhh…” Bucky stalled. Dang. He still had no idea what their name was. 

“Doctor Metzger,” they supplied. 

“Yikes, that’s unfortunate,” Bucky said without thinking. He winced, realizing how rude he must have sounded. Way to put your foot in your mouth, Barnes. 

Thankfully Dr. Metzger had a sense of humor because they laughed before asking, “You speak German?” 

“A bit,” Bucky admitted before turning back to Clint. “Anyway, Doctor Metzger was here when I was freaking out. I’m okay now.” 

Clint looked dubious, but didn’t argue the point. Bucky was going to take that as a win. 

Dr. Metzger stood up. “Why don’t you two head back into the lobby and start filling out that paperwork? I’ll check in on your dog and bring him out to you in a few minutes. He should be waking up pretty soon.” 

Bucky nodded, grateful that the doctor wasn’t asking them to go back into that operating room. Clint would definitely see through his “I’m okay” if he had to go back in there. 

“Perfect. We’ll meet you out there. Have you guys thought of a name yet?” 

Clint looked at Bucky. “I’m thinking… Lucky?” 

*

Having a dog turned out to be a lot more work than Clint had expected. The first few weeks were deceptively easy as Lucky recovered from his accident. Clint or Bucky would take him around the neighborhood a few times a day to do his business, but mostly he could be found sleeping on the couch or slowly limping around their apartment as he sniffed out his new digs. 

Once he recovered, though, Clint realized how much work a dog could be. 

“Oh my god,” he whined, loosening the scarf around his neck and throwing a tennis ball across the quad for what felt like the thousandth time that day, “how do you have so much energy?” 

“He’s your dog, what did you expect?” Natasha asked as Lucky bounded off after the ball and ran back, tail wagging proudly. 

Clint leaned over to pick up the drool-covered ball and toss it again before responding to Nat. “I don’t have this much energy!” he protested. “I run on caffeine and anxiety and all I want to do is sleep!” 

“So does he, once you tire him out,” Natasha pointed out. “He has something he loves doing and he’s happy to do it over and over and over again until it’s time for a nap. Sound familiar?” 

When she put it like that, Clint supposed she did have a point. When he was on the ice having fun he felt like he could keep doing it all day. It was just all the other stuff he found exhausting. Stuff like laundry and dishes and all that boring conditioning to make sure he had the strength to do all the fun stuff on the ice. The stuff Lucky was lucky to not have to worry about. 

“I guess,” Clint admitted out loud. “You think I could put him in skates and bring him to practice with us? That’d tire him out, right?” 

Natasha gave him a Look. 

“I bet Tony would make Lucky figure skates if I asked nicely.” 

“I bet Fury would kill you if you brought your dog to practice.” 

Okay, she maybe had a point there. Their coach probably wouldn’t be too happy with the amount of fur Lucky would be shedding on the ice. Clint felt like his life was a never-ending battle against fur these days. He was gonna start buying stock in lint rollers with the number he and Bucky went through now. 

“I also think we have a competition in less than three weeks, and if you break your arm tripping over your dog on the ice _I_ might kill you,” she continued, pulling her gloves off and stuffing them in her coat pocket. 

Okay, maybe she had a point there too. Although… “I’m just as likely to do that off the ice as well,” he felt the need to point out. 

Natasha picked up the ball Lucky had dropped at her feet and tossed it from hand to hand, staring Clint dead in the eye. “I’d kill you then too,” she said finally, winding up and throwing the ball twice as far as Clint had. 

Yeah, Clint thought, she probably would. Nat was pretty intense about nothing interfering with their skating. Maybe he could convince Bucky to talk Coach Carter into letting Lucky on the ice during their practices. He’d have a great time chasing the puck around the rink, and he couldn’t possibly do more damage to the ice than the hockey players already managed to do. 

*

Clint shook out his hands and arms, trying to loosen up some of the tension in his shoulders. They would be attempting the quintuple throw jump for the first time in competition later today, but first they had to get through their short program. They were skating to “In the Hall of the Mountain King”, which Clint wasn’t particularly fond of, but Coulson insisted it was a great piece for them. Natasha and Fury seemed to agree with him, so Clint had decided that was a hill he definitely did not need to die on. 

Natasha adjusted her laces one more time before standing up and nodding to Clint. He nodded back, and they stepped out onto the ice together. Clint took a deep breath. No matter how many competitions he participated in, there was always something both calming and exhilarating about stepping onto the rink in front of a crowd full of people. 

After skating a few laps around the rink, they took their places in the center of the ice. Clint locked eyes on Natasha, whose mouth twitched in a small smile. The music started and Clint pushed off the ice, circling Natasha. 

Everything seemed to be going well until the solo double axels. As Clint landed his jump and transitioned into the backwards crossovers, he saw Natasha wobble and almost touch the ice before straightening and heading into the crossover. That was really weird - Natasha’s double axels were usually rock solid. 

When they went into the death spiral, Clint knew something was up. Natasha wasn’t wearing her standard focused “I want all the artistic points” smile. She was wearing the scary “everything is fine” smile she usually wore when she was in a murdery mood. 

Not good, not good, not good. 

As soon as they finished their program and stepped off the ice, Clint turned to face Natasha, his back to the cameras. “Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?” Clint pressed. She wasn’t exactly limping, but she was walking in the measured sort of way she did when trying not to limp. Natasha was exactly the kind of person to hide an injury to get through a competition, and he was worried about attempting the quintuple if she was nursing an injury. 

“I’m fine,” she hissed, pushing past him towards the locker room. “Leave me alone.” 

“You barely landed the double axel…”

Natasha turned her murder eyes on him. “I’m going to hurt you if you don’t shut up now.” 

Clint raised his hands in surrender. Yep, she was absolutely hiding an injury. The free skate was gonna suck, but he knew if he suggested they dial back to the quad throw, he’d get his head bitten off. There was never any question about who called the shots on their team. 

So when Natasha crumpled to the ice instead of landing the quintuple in the free skate, Clint just clenched his jaw and kept skating. He saw her scramble back to her feet in his peripheral vision and he let out the breath he’d been holding. 

He watched her nervously as they skated, and went back to holding his breath after she altered the jump combination to end on a toe loop instead of a lutz. Normally he was too focused on his own jumps to notice what Nat was doing, but the extra stroke she took to get them back in sync was a little hard to miss. 

Damn. She was clearly favoring her right leg, and she still had to land the second throw jump on the right. At least the final axel jumps at the end were landed on the left. 

Natasha surprised Clint by managing to stay upright after landing the second throw jump. Her hand brushed the ice as she struggled to stay on her feet, but she didn’t go down like Clint was bracing himself for. He let out a brief sigh of relief before focusing on finishing up the program. He and Nat were going to have serious words after they got off the ice. 

Natasha tried to play it cool after they finished the free skate and stepped off the ice. Clint and Fury had other plans, however, and hustled her off to the bench area as soon as they were done smiling and waving at the cameras. 

“Out with it,” Fury snapped at her once they were alone. “You’re favoring your right leg. What’s going on?” 

“It’s fine,” Natasha said, jutting her chin out. 

Clint glared at her. She was obviously lying through her teeth. “Stop acting like Bucky with the whole ‘it’s fine; it doesn’t hurt’ act. What’s going on with your leg?” 

Natasha mumbled something as she bent down to unlace her boots. 

Clint huffed in frustration before grabbing her chin and forcing her to look at him. The glare she was leveling at him would have made plenty of folks turn tail and hide, but Clint had (mostly) built up an immunity. “I didn’t catch that and you know it. If you don’t tell us what’s going on I’m picking you up and carrying you to the on-site doctor.” 

“Try that and you’ll lose an arm,” Natasha threatened. 

Clint rolled his eyes and called her bluff. “Empty threat, Widow. You know you’ll never find another partner willing to put up with you.” 

Fury nodded his agreement. Natasha was infamous in the figure skating world for the number of partners she’d gone through before Clint had shown up. After Fury had found teenage Clint working at Cirque du Soleil, he’d taken him as a student and offered him up as a sacrifice to the so called “Black Widow of the Ice”. Surprisingly, Clint had no problems handling Natasha’s quirks, and they’d formed a lasting partnership. That couldn’t be said for any of Natasha’s former partners. All but one had quit figure skating entirely, and he had gone back to singles skating. 

Natasha looked to make sure there were no cameras aimed in their direction. “It’s probably just a stress fracture,” she finally admitted. 

“Dammit, Nat. You know better,” Fury growled. Clint knew he had real strong feelings about his students hiding injuries from him. 

“We needed to qualify,” she said simply, looking to Clint for support. 

Clint bristled. There was no way she was trying to pull him into this. It was bad enough his partner would be getting benched for an injury; he didn’t need Fury benching him too because he thought he’d been in on it. “Not badly enough for you to skate on a broken foot!” he hissed, twisting his head to make sure no reporters had snuck up on them. 

And to think Nat had been the one threatening _him_ if he got injured before the competition. 

*

It turned out Nat had _three_ stress fractures in her right foot and Clint wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen Fury so mad. 

“I’m so glad I don’t live with her anymore,” Clint confessed to Bucky one night over dinner. The one upside of all this was that he wasn’t at the rink at all hours right now. Normally, with both of their intense practice schedules, if one of them wasn’t at the rink the other probably was. But now since there was only so much practice he could do without Natasha he got to see Bucky a lot more than he usually did. 

Bucky raised an eyebrow, mouth too full of chicken to respond. 

“She’s sulking like a wet cat,” Clint said, not needing a verbal response to continue. “Since she can’t take her wrath out on Fury, she’s lashing out at me. It’s bad enough I have to deal with her at the gym - I don’t know if I could handle living with her too.” 

“How’d you deal with her before?” Bucky asked, shoveling a bunch of mashed cauliflower onto his fork. “I know you two got laid up right before the first Olympics you were partners; what’d you do then?”

Clint laughed humorlessly. He didn’t like to think about that period in his life. He hadn’t understood why all Natasha’s other skating partners had quit after a few months with her until they’d both been laid up with injuries after a bad accident at practice. After that, yeah, he got it. He hadn’t quit on her because honestly he’d had to deal with worse than that getting where he had, but he understood why all her former partners couldn’t handle it. 

Normal people who grew up in normal homes just didn’t have the experience to handle that kind of behavior. 

“Lotta painkillers?” Clint said half-jokingly. He wasn’t surprised when a lump of cauliflower landed on his face. Wiping it off with a napkin, he smiled sadly at Bucky. “What? It’s true. It’s hard to care about much of anything when you’re stoned out of your mind.” 

“I _know_ ,” Bucky growled. “It’s not funny.” 

Clint’s expression turned serious and he reached across the table to lay his hand on Bucky’s. “I know. But it’s kinda true. I was on a lot of painkillers the first few weeks after that accident, and by the time I wasn’t half drugged out of my mind Nat had calmed down a bit. You know, by her standards. I think she was trying to go easy on me because I was in way worse shape than she was after I broke her fall. Literally.”

Bucky winced. 

“Not that she’d ever admit it, of course. According to her it was my fault we fell in the first place.” 

“Was it?” Bucky asked, probably the only person who could ask that without getting a punch to the face. 

Clint shrugged. He still didn’t like talking about it, but this was Bucky asking. “My toe pick got caught on a divot in the ice. I fell, and I didn’t catch her. So, technically yes. We hadn’t been partners super long when it happened, so it was hard to build the trust back up after that.”

They’d also been teenagers, not that Clint felt like he ever really got to be a teenager. Then again, by all accounts neither had Natasha. 

“This time’s different, though. This time she’s the one on crutches and I’m not injured at all. We’ve got years of built up trust, and I’m fair game. It sucks. I’m a little worried she’s going to trip me in the hallway to even the score.” 

“Seriously?” Bucky asked, sounding alarmed. 

“No, but only because it’d set our training back even further. I know she’s super pissed Fury’s having me work with some of the newer pairs teams while she’s recovering. I think she considers it a personal insult.” 

Bucky’s eyebrows knitted together as he frowned. “But that just makes sense. You still need to practice, and getting to work with different partners is good training.” 

“I know that,” Clint sighed, wishing it were that easy to reason with his skating partner. “You know that. Deep down I’m sure she knows that too. But she’s mad and in pain and I’m an easy target.” 

Bucky’s frown deepened. “I don’t like it. She shouldn’t be taking her anger out on you. That’s not healthy for either of you, and you shouldn’t accept that just because you’re a convenient target.” 

“Dr. Xavier would be so proud to hear you say that,” Clint said with a laugh. 

“I’m serious!” Bucky snapped, dropping his fork on his plate with a clatter. “That kind of behavior’s not cool. I know you both had shitty childhoods and came out with a bunch of really fucking unhealthy coping mechanisms, but you’re adults now. You need to get over that shit and act like it.” 

Clint blanched. He- he didn’t have a good comeback for that. Bucky wasn’t wrong exactly. He knew his relationship with Nat wasn’t the pinnacle of healthy, but they were professional athletes. The level of trust required to allow Clint to pick up Natasha and throw her in the air while skating at high speeds was something most people could never hope to understand. Clint was asking Natasha to trust him with her safety every time they took to the ice together. He figured a bit of emotional abuse was a small price to pay for that trust. 

It seemed like Bucky had different ideas. That probably made him a better person than Clint. 

“Oh hell,” Bucky said, sagging. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not mad at you. I’m not even mad at Nat - not really. Being off the ice from an injury sucks; I know that more than anyone. But she’s lucky to have you as a partner and I’m not sure she realizes what she’s doing to you. And you just take it, and I’m not sure you realize what that’s doing to you either. I just want you to be happy.” 

This was too much truth for Clint in one evening, and he felt tears welling up in his eyes. “I gotta go,” he said, running to the bedroom and throwing himself face-first on the bed. He felt himself give in, crying into the comforter and probably making a gross snotty mess of the bed. No doubt Bucky would be in in a few minutes, and he wanted to get most of the incoherent sobbing out of the way first. 

Right on schedule, Bucky knocked softly on the doorframe. “Hey,” he said quietly, “can I come in?”

Still sniffling, Clint lifted his head. “Yeah,” he said. He felt the bed shift as Bucky sat down, and wiped his face on his sleeve. He was so gross. He didn’t know what Bucky saw in him. 

Bucky gathered him up in his arms and Clint was content to stay there, head resting on Bucky’s collarbone as Bucky gently rubbed circles onto his back. He couldn’t even begin to count how many times they’d done this with the positions reversed - Clint rubbing Bucky’s back as he told him it didn’t matter if he only had one arm now, his Olympic dream wasn’t dead. It felt different to be the one being held, but it was soothing to just sit there safe in Bucky’s arms. 

“I’m sorry I upset you,” Bucky said quietly a few minutes later, face buried in Clint’s hair. “I shouldn’t have said that.” 

Clint shook his head. “It’s fine, it wasn’t you. I mean, it kinda was, but not really. I don’t like it when Nat’s mad at me.” 

Bucky squeezed Clint in his arms before pulling the blanket at the foot of their bed up to cover Clint’s shoulders. 

“It reminds me of before,” Clint continued, “you know, before I joined Cirque.” He tried to burrow himself deeper into Bucky’s arms. “Best decision I ever made was forging my dad’s signature and running off to the circus as a pre-teen. Man, that’s fucked up.” 

Bucky made a pained noise. 

“I mean, getting married to you was a pretty awesome decision too, but that wouldn’ta happened if I hadn’t run off to the circus.” Clint paused for a moment, reflecting. “I’d be, I dunno, probably in jail or something.” 

He didn’t keep in contact with his brother Barney, but the last he heard he’d done a couple stints in prison for car theft. If he hadn’t had figure skating Clint figured he’d probably be following in his brother’s footsteps. 

“So, like, Nat being super mad at me brings up all that garbage. I got lucky,” he said, tilting his head up to look into Bucky’s eyes. “I got so lucky. I shouldn’t be here - you know what the odds of me getting to train at the Stark Facility are? I’m trailer-trash from rural Iowa. I don’t belong here and I feel like I’m just waiting for someone t-” 

Clint petered out as Bucky pressed a finger to his lips. 

“No,” Bucky told him. “No, you worked so hard to get here and you belong at the Stark Facility just as much as anyone else. You won a gold medal at the freaking Olympics and I guarantee you that wasn’t luck. That was hard work and hundreds of thousands of hours of practice. Don’t let Nat or anyone else make you believe you don’t belong here.” 

Clint blinked, eyes brimming with tears again. “Thanks honey,” he said, tucking his chin into his chest and burrowing back into the safety of Bucky’s arms. “I needed to hear that today,” he mumbled quietly. 

Bucky squeezed Clint tightly, the pressure around his shoulders doing more to calm his fears than any words could do. 

“You want me to talk to Natasha?” he asked. 

Clint’s head jerked up, clipping Bucky’s chin with the top of his head. “Are you insane?” he demanded. “With the temper she’s in, she might actually kill you! I can’t be a widower before I’m thirty!” 

Bucky snorted. “I think I can outrun her.” 

“Can you outrun a gun?” 

“She has a gun?!” 

Clint laughed at Bucky’s dumbfounded expression. “Probably not, but the biathletes definitely have rifles.” He smiled as Bucky’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly. “But seriously, I’ll be okay. You don’t need to talk to her.” 

Bucky shook his head and pulled Clint tighter into his arms, tucking the blanket back around his shoulders. It was only later that Clint realized Bucky had never agreed to anything. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Bucky, what are you going to do now?


	4. Chapter 4

Bucky went looking for Natasha when Clint was busy at a group practice session with the youth skaters. He eventually found her at the top of the stands watching the session with raw jealousy on her face. 

He glanced at the ice where Clint was holding one of the girls over his head with one hand, gesturing to the boy who was presumably her partner with the other. Ah, that explained it. Clint had once mentioned that overhead lifts were Natasha’s favorite. 

“Aren’t your toes cold?” he asked, trying to draw her attention away from the ice.

She glanced at her foot where it was propped on the seat in front of her, toes peeking out of the black fiberglass cast. “Not really,” she said shortly, turning back to the ice. 

Bucky sighed inwardly. “It’s not his fault, you know,” he told her, pulling the seat down to sit next to her. 

She looked at him sharply. “I’m not stupid; I know that,” she snapped, eyes flashing with anger. “Did you come all the way up here just to tell me that?” 

“No,” Bucky said calmly. Natasha terrified him - always had, probably always would - but when Clint’s happiness was on the line, it was an entirely different matter. He could be cool and collected for Clint. “I came up here to tell you this attitude of yours is doing a real number on Clint.” 

Natasha hissed, actually hissed at him. “You stay out of this,” she snapped, snatching her crutches from where they were propped next to her and levering herself to her feet. “You wouldn’t understand.” 

“I understand that when I was doing something to hurt Clint you threatened me with murder,” he said, following her as she made her way down the aisle to the stairs. “You were right to do it,” he said quickly as she turned and opened her mouth. “You were absolutely right, but I can’t stand by and watch you do the same thing to him. I love him too.” 

“It’s not the same,” she said, turning back to make her escape. 

Bucky reached out to grab her shoulder and she whirled, crutches clattering down the stairs as she laid a slap across Bucky’s cheek. “Don’t _touch_ me,” she snapped, and Bucky raised his hands in surrender. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he apologized. He hadn’t meant to do anything besides get her attention, but he could understand how that could be intimidating. As a hockey player he could be naturally aggressive, but in this instance he really hadn’t meant to seem threatening. “At least let me help you get those,” he said as she hopped down the steps to retrieve the fallen crutches. 

“I don’t need your help,” she snapped again, turning to face him mid-hop. 

Bucky saw her foot land half on the step, and lunged forward as her eyes widened, foot sliding backwards off the step. She flung her arms wide to grab the railing, catching it with her fingertips but sliding off again as gravity dragged her backwards. Bucky grabbed hold of the railing with his right hand and unthinkingly reached for her with his left. 

She grabbed onto his wrist and Bucky let out a high pitched whimper as the force of stopping her fall yanked on the arm. It felt like his prosthetic was being pulled out of his shoulder and the gears in his arm whirred unhappily as he flexed, pulling her back to a stable and upright position. 

“I didn’t mean to touch you again, I’m sorry,” he apologized as soon as she let go of his wrist. Fuck, did his arm hurt. He hoped he hadn’t damaged any of the mechanisms. He was wearing what Tony liked to call his ‘dress arm’ this morning - the lighter everyday prosthetic that was more pretty than functional. 

“It’s okay,” she murmured, taking a long look down the concrete stairs. “I, uhh, thanks.” 

“No problem,” Bucky said, holding his elbow to take some of the pressure off his shoulder. “You sure I can’t get those for you?” 

Natasha looked back down the stairs where her crutches lay and took a deep breath. “Actually, that’d be great,” she admitted. 

Bucky skirted around her to walk down the stairs, picking the crutches up with his right hand. He handed them back to her, making sure she had them slotted under her arms before he went back to holding his elbow. 

“Is your arm okay?” she said, looking like it pained her to ask. 

Bucky shrugged, and wow did he not want to do that again anytime soon. “I might need to have Stark check it out,” he confessed. 

To his amazement, Natasha looked down and whispered, “I’m sorry.” 

Bucky resisted the urge to say ‘you’re what now?’ by the slimmest of margins. “I’m sorry I chased you,” he said instead. “I just… you’re hurting Clint, you know.” 

“I’m sorry for that too,” she said, still looking down. “Old habits die hard, I guess. And if you tell anyone I said that, I’ll deny it and kill you.” 

Bucky let out a snort. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.” 

“I have a reputation to maintain, you know.” 

“Of course,” Bucky said, slowly walking down the stairs to give her time to follow him. “You know,” he said after a minute, pausing at a landing, “I’m surprised Dr. Banner didn’t just give you a boot.” 

“He was going to,” Natasha said, “but Fury insisted on the hard cast. He figured if I had a boot I’d take it off and sneak onto the rink to practice off hours.” 

Bucky blinked. From everything Clint said about her, that did sound like something Natasha would do. “Was he right?” he asked, continuing down the stairs. 

“Yeah, probably,” she replied, following him down the stairs instead of taking the landing to the elevator. 

She was still following him by the time he reached Tony and Pepper’s office. He’d figured she’d head back to the dorms, but they’d passed those without any indication of her breaking off. He’d paused outside the cafeteria building, waiting for her to take her leave, but she kept following. He passed through the quad, past the gym, up the elevator, and down the hall to the executive offices listening to the quiet click-thump of his new shadow. 

It was honestly a little disconcerting, but if she hadn’t murdered him yet he figured she was unlikely to do so today. She probably just didn’t have anything better to do. 

“Hey Pepper,” Bucky said, holding the door open for Natasha and glancing at Tony’s empty desk. “Have you seen Tony around?” 

Pepper raised an eyebrow as Natasha entered the room. “He’s meeting with some editors right now,” she told him. “Is there anything I can help you with?” 

Bucky shook his head. “No, but thanks. I was just hoping Tony could check over the arm because I think I tweaked some of the mechanisms. I’ll email him to schedule something later.” 

“No, no, stay,” Pepper insisted, flapping a hand at him as she tapped on her phone with the other. “He should be done soon; I’m texting him now. Have a seat.” 

“Oh,” Bucky said quietly. He didn’t want to be a bother - Pepper always seemed so busy. “Are you sure?” 

“Of course, Bucky. Make yourself at home. Natasha certainly has.” 

Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion and Pepper pointed behind him. Bucky turned to see Natasha leaning back in Tony’s chair, foot propped on his desk. “I see,” he laughed, pulling out a chair and sitting down in front of Pepper’s desk. 

“How’s everything going? Still training hard for the Olympics I assume?” Pepper asked him, apparently content to be distracted. “I hear you’ve got a dog now.” 

“Oh man,” Bucky laughed again. “Yes about the Olympics, of course. As for the dog, Lucky’s a terror and Clint adores him. He got into the flour last week,” Bucky said, pulling out his phone. “I didn’t even know we _had_ flour - neither of us bakes so why was there even flour in the house?” Bucky scrolled through his phone while continuing to talk. “But somehow he got into the flour we didn’t even know we had and tracked it all over the apartment. I swear I’m still finding flour in random corners.” 

Bucky found the photo he’d taken of a flour-covered Lucky and turned his phone towards Pepper. She laughed, smiling as she said, “That sounds like quite the adventure.” 

They were still making small talk when Tony burst into the room. 

“I hear someone needs a mechanic!” he proclaimed, dramatically flinging the door open wide. “Where is it?” 

“I have a name, you know,” Bucky grumbled. 

“No, no, the arm, where is it?” 

Bucky raised an eyebrow and gestured to his left arm. “Same place it usually is.” 

Tony took a step back, eyes going wide. “You wrecked the _dress arm_?” he demanded, hands going to his hips. “What the hell were you doing playing hockey with that arm?” 

“Wasn’t playing hockey,” Bucky sighed. He knew he was obsessed, but he wasn’t _that_ obsessed. He did things besides play hockey. Sometimes. 

Okay, yeah, maybe Tony had a point there. 

Tony shook his head in confusion before seeming to notice Natasha for the first time. “Hey, foot off the desk, Gimpy.” 

To Bucky’s amazement, Natasha moved her foot off the desk and stood up. 

“What are you waiting for, come on, let’s go to the workshop and check out what you did to my masterpiece,” Tony said, heading out the door without waiting to see if Bucky was following. 

“Uhh, bye Pepper,” Bucky said, holding the door open for Natasha and giving the CEO a wave as they left. 

“Bye, have fun!” 

Bucky wasn’t sure he’d call getting his arm checked out fun, but he didn’t have time to question it as he half-jogged to catch up with Tony and Natasha. 

Ten minutes later, Bucky was sitting on a stool in Tony’s workshop with his shirt off. Natasha was perched on a workbench next to him, feet dangling and watching them with interest. 

“Why’s she here?” Tony asked, hand supporting Bucky’s prosthetic elbow as he poked at the electrodes attached just below his shoulder. 

Bucky shrugged, wincing as he remembered he didn’t want to be doing that. “Ow, no idea,” he said. 

“Ow?” Tony asked, Natasha’s presence apparently already forgotten. “This should not be ‘ow’. Why is there ‘ow’?” 

“It got pulled on pretty hard,” Bucky said vaguely, not wanting to mention Natasha’s part in this since she was, you know, _right there_. Maybe that was why she was following him around. She was probably worried Bucky would start telling people she had one ungraceful moment in her life and nearly fell down a flight of stairs. 

“Woah!” Tony yelped, dropping the arm. “What were you and Clint doing last night? Should I be wearing gloves?” 

Bucky nearly choked. “Jesus, no! Nothing like that!” 

Tony gave him a suspicious look, but moved back to continue his examination of the arm. “Yeah, I think some of these connections are loose,” he said after making Bucky go through a series of movements. “Pop it off for me, will you?” 

Bucky obliged, wincing slightly as he rotated his shoulder. 

Tony put the arm on a workbench and eyed his shoulder critically. “You mind?” he asked, reaching his hands out towards Bucky. 

“Be my guest,” Bucky replied, and Tony put a hand on his shoulder. 

“Tell me when it hurts,” he said, rotating his arm slowly. 

“Ow,” Bucky said about halfway through the rotation. 

Tony hummed thoughtfully, then walked away. He reached under a workbench to open a door and pull something out, then walked back, tossing it into Bucky’s lap. 

Something turned out to be an ice pack. 

“Put that on your shoulder, you probably pulled something,” Tony said in a tone that brooked no argument. “And tell your husband to stop yanking on your prosthetic during sex. Or wear one of the other arms the next time. I don’t want to fix this every time you guys get frisky.” 

“I wasn’t- he didn’t,” Bucky stammered as Natasha doubled over with laughter. This was all her fault, but she apparently had no inclination to correct Tony’s assumption. So cruel. That was the last time Bucky was catching her before she fell down the stairs. 

“Yeah, okay,” Tony replied sarcastically. “I’m keeping this for a few days,” he told Bucky, patting the arm on the workbench. “Tell Clint he’ll have to play with one of the other arms tonight.” 

At a loss for words, Bucky simply nodded. 

“Oh, and tell him you’ve got a photoshoot next week.” 

Bucky cocked his head to the side. “A what now?” 

“A photoshoot,” Tony said, pulling a bunch of screwdrivers out of a drawer and laying them on the workbench. “It’s for SportsTek Magazine. They’re doing an edition on accessible gyms, and of course we’re the featured article. I need you and Clint and Matt for the photoshoot, and they’ll probably want interviews as well. Don’t worry, I already cleared the time with Peggy, so you’re fine. It won’t cut into your practice time at all.” 

“What’s SportsTek Magazine?”

Tony looked pained. “What’s - what does it sound like? It’s a magazine about sports technology! Why are you playing up the dumb musclehead stereotype? Did you hit your head during all that rough sex last night?” 

Bucky groaned. “Why are you so stuck on that idea?” 

“Because I have to fix what Clint breaks! Now go if you want this back any time in the next week. And take Gimpy here with you; I don’t want her giving my projects the evil eye.” 

Bucky just sighed and hopped off the stool, ice pack pressed to his shoulder. He looked at Natasha, who smirked but thankfully got off the workbench to follow him. 

“Have fun telling Clint about that photoshoot,” she said ominously, waiting for the elevator outside Tony’s workshop. “I hope not to be seeing you around,” she said as the elevator dinged and she stepped inside. Bucky stood outside in mild disbelief as the elevator doors closed in front of him. It seemed like he’d be taking the stairs today. 

*

A week later Bucky and Clint had just walked into the Stark Facility lobby when they saw Tony standing by the elevators and waving madly. 

“Hey Clint, Bucky!” Tony yelled. “Come on, you’re late for the photoshoot!” 

Bucky’s stomach dropped. He’d been so distracted by Natasha’s weird behavior that he’d forgotten to mention the photoshoot to Clint when he got home last week. 

“The what now?” Clint asked. 

“The photoshoot. Didn’t Bucky tell you?” Tony asked, making elaborate come-here motions with his hands. “For SportsTek Magazine? The one doing an edition on accessible gyms?” 

Bucky nearly ran into Clint when he stopped dead in his tracks. “Whoa, give a guy some warning,” he said, snaking an arm around Clint’s waist and kissing him on the cheek. “Sorry I forgot to tell you about it last week, but I nearly took you out there. And not the nice way with steak and candles.” 

“Sorry,” Clint mumbled, looking around nervously. “Fury’s probably waiting for me. I gotta go. Have fun with your photoshoot.” 

Bucky frowned. Something was going on with Clint, and he didn’t like it. Maybe there was more to Natasha’s offhand comment than her just being weird.

“Come oooon,” Tony whined, continuing to make the come-here motions in the air. “The photographers are waiting, Buckaroo.” 

He grabbed Bucky’s wrist and towed him down the hallway as he continued to talk. “And what’s going on with your husband? He ran out of here like he remembered he left the stove on. Though knowing Clint, maybe he did leave the stove on. My condolences for your apartment, in that case.” 

Tony continued to drag Bucky all the way to the office he shared with Pepper. He kept talking the whole time, but Bucky tuned him out pretty quickly. He knew Clint wasn’t worried about their stove, but he was worried about something. He’d had that weird look of mild terror on his face when he took off for practice. He’d been fine on the train this morning - it wasn’t until they saw Tony that Clint had gotten weird. 

“Here we are!” Tony announced as he stepped into the office with Bucky. 

Bucky recognized the blind gymnast, Matt, and of course he knew Pepper, but he didn’t know the other three people in the room. He guessed the two guys Pepper was talking to were the photographers, judging by the cameras around their necks. That probably made the lady with the notepad talking to Matt the reporter. 

“Okay, I wrangled one of them, but Barton ran off before I could catch him,” Tony announced to the room. “We’ll get his stuff later; I’ll just hold his husband hostage until he cooperates.” 

Pepper raised an eyebrow and quickly glanced at the reporter as if to say ‘are you sure this is the image you want to portray here?’. Bucky stifled a snort. 

“Anyway,” Tony continued, clearly unaffected by Pepper’s disapproval, “this is Bucky, everyone. Bucky, you know Matt and Pepper. The lady over there grilling Matt is Sally, and these two harassing Pepper are Victor and Bobby. Or is it Bobby and Victor?” Tony shrugged. “You can introduce yourselves - I can never tell you two apart.” 

Victor and Bobby exchanged amused glances before stepping over to offer a hand to Bucky. 

“Bobby,” the tall black man said, shaking Bucky’s hand with a firm grip. He had a head full of tightly braided cornrows, and was wearing a loose tank top emblazoned with a parrot riding a skateboard. “I’m one of the photographers today. We’re hoping to get a lot of action shots, so you’ll probably hate us after we’ve made you do the same move on the balance beam a dozen times in a row.” 

Bucky laughed as he released Bobby’s hand. “Oh man, I hope not. I’m a hockey player; if you put me on a balance beam I’ll probably lose my good arm too.” 

“Dude, you wear knife shoes on the regular!” Matt hollered from across the room. “While I’d pay good money to see you fall off a balance beam, I think you’d manage without dis-arming yourself again.” 

“Sure, you’d pay good money to _see_ that,” Bucky muttered darkly as Victor came up to introduce himself. 

“Hi, I’m Victor,” the shorter asian man said as he stuck out his hand with a poorly concealed smirk. Yeah, he’d definitely overheard Bucky’s comment. “We’ll try to keep you off the balance beam today, but I definitely want some close-ups of those ratcheting hockey skates that are all the rage. Is it true Tony designed them with you in mind?” 

Bucky felt a blush rising up his cheeks. “Yeah,” he said sheepishly, flinching as Matt came up behind him and poked him directly over a bruise. 

“Heard that,” Matt said quietly. 

Bucky let out a soft snort before continuing his conversation with Victor. “I’m glad they got so popular, even if it feels weird to see my face on banner ads when I’m scrolling through Facebook. It means he’s not making a loss on them like he is with this thing.” Bucky shrugged his left shoulder, bringing attention to the prosthetic. Not that it wasn’t already quite noticeable since he was wearing a t-shirt with the metal arm today. Tony still hadn’t given the dress arm back, saying he needed to make some improvements to ‘sex-proof’ it. 

“Woah,” Victor said, taking a half-step back and placing a hand on his chest. “Tony designed that too?” 

“Designed and manufactured,” Tony answered proudly, stepping up behind Bucky and throwing an arm around his shoulders. “Unlike some supposedly inclusive facilities, I stand behind my belief that sports are for _everybody_ one thousand percent. It’s not about the profit margin at Stark Industries.” Tony paused for a second. “Although I will say the popular merchandise does help with funding pet projects like this one.” 

The rest of the morning was a whirlwind of photos and interviews. They were trying to multitask - interviewing Bucky while getting pictures of Matt - but Bucky kept getting distracted. He almost never got to see the gymnasts practice, so watching Matt show off parts of his floor routine was a real treat. Bucky was supposed to be talking about how he thought his childhood dream of playing hockey at the Olympics had died after he lost his arm, but his attention kept drifting to the guy flying through the air. He hoped Sally managed to get something usable for the article. 

“How the hell?” Bucky asked Matt when he stepped off the mat to get a drink of water. Everyone else was clustered around the photographers to check out the quality of the pictures, but Bucky was more interested in the man who’d been in front of the camera. 

Matt laughed, taking a swig from his water bottle before he answered. “The floor is specially textured so I can feel how close I am to the edges. Plus the beepers help.” He took another swig from the water bottle. “And, you know, a ton of practice. I won’t lie, vault scared the shit out of me the first couple hundred times. But my first coach kept yelling at me that regular gymnasts make blind landings all the time. I just get to make a lot more of them.” 

Bucky snorted. “Coaches, man. They’ll turn anything into a training opportunity.” 

“Don’t I know it,” Matt said, shaking his head. 

“Hey, Buckaroo!” Tony yelled, interrupting their conversation. “You think Fury is done torturing your husband yet? We’ve got enough pictures of Matt, so we want to get a group shot before we release him back in the wild.” 

“Oh thank God,” Matt said quietly. “I thought they were going to make me stay for your photoshoot. No offense, but listening to people skate is super boring.” 

“It’s cool,” Bucky said quietly before yelling at Tony. “How should I know? You act like we’re married or something!” 

As Tony spluttered incoherently, Bucky texted Clint. 

_“You done with practice yet? Tony wants you for photos._ ”

A few minutes later, Bucky frowned as he read Clint’s response. “ _wasn’t feeling well, went home, sorry_ ”. That wasn’t like Clint at all. He never went home sick. He could be running a fever high enough to melt the ice and he’d still insist he was well enough to practice. 

“Uhhh,” Bucky said eloquently. 

“What, did he accidentally lock himself in the bathroom or something?” Tony asked, coming to peer over Bucky’s shoulder. “Wait, Clint never goes home sick. Did you text the right person?” 

“ _Who are you and what have you done with my husband?_ ” Bucky texted back. 

“ _tell Tony srry_ ” 

Tony sighed, reading the text over Bucky’s shoulder. “Why can’t he text like a normal person?” he asked as another text popped up. 

“ _youll do great, they dont want my ugly mug when theyve got your pretty face_ ” 

“ _Aww, you think I’m pretty?_ ” Bucky replied out of habit, closing the window before Tony could read any embarrassing response Clint might send. 

“I guess we can photoshop him in later,” Tony grumbled. “There’s something weird going on with your husband, though.” 

Bucky hummed in agreement. Clint was definitely avoiding something, and Bucky had a suspicious feeling it had something to do with the comment Natasha had made last week. They’d be having a long chat when he got home tonight. 

*

“Honey I’m home!” Bucky called out as he entered their apartment later that evening. Lucky danced around his feet, and he kicked the door closed behind him and tossed his gym bag on the floor. Pausing to give Lucky a scratch, he headed into the kitchen and started unpacking the items he’d picked up at the corner market on his way home.

He wasn’t sure if Clint was actually sick, so he’d picked up a half gallon of orange juice and a few cans of chicken soup to be on the safe side. He’d also picked up a box of hot chocolate mix and a packet of oreos because he had a feeling Clint’s problem was a little more mental than physical, and everyone knew chocolate was good for the soul.

Clint shuffled into the kitchen wearing a blanket around his shoulders as Bucky was heating milk on the stove for hot chocolate. Bucky eyed him critically before walking over and placing the back of his hand on Clint’s forehead.

Clint flinched slightly. Yep, this called for chocolate, not chicken soup. Clint turned into a demanding cuddle monster when he was actually sick.

“What’s going on up here?” Bucky asked, gently tapping Clint’s forehead with an index finger for emphasis.

Clint ducked his head. “Do we have to do this?” he asked softly.

Bucky sighed. “You know we do, but we can wait for hot chocolate if you want.” 

Clint nodded and shuffled over to the kitchen table, looking like he was waiting for the executioner. Lucky curled up at his feet, and Bucky watched Clint lean over to give the dog a half-hearted pat. 

Bucky joined them when the hot chocolate was ready, placing a steaming mug and the packet of oreos in front of Clint. “Okay, time for feelings,” Bucky said after Clint had taken the first sip of hot chocolate. “Why did Tony’s photoshoot bother you so much?”

“I’m not ready to come out,” Clint whispered into his hot chocolate.

Bucky’s brows furrowed. Come out? Clint had proposed in public at the Olympics in front of a horde of photographers. They were already – oh. Oh. “Nobody knows you’re deaf,” he said, understanding dawning.

Clint shook his head, steadfastly staring into his hot chocolate like it could solve all his problems.

“Would that really be so bad?” Bucky asked.

“I just want to be a figure skater,” Clint said to his hot chocolate, voice tinged with frustration. “The moment I come out I’ll go from being a gold medal figure skater to the sob story of the deaf skater that could. I want people to see me for my skating, not for my lack of hearing.”

Bucky nodded. He could understand that. The moment he’d gone back to hockey after losing his arm, it seemed like random strangers couldn’t stop coming up to him telling him how much of an inspiration he was. It got old real fast, but Bucky figured it was worth it for the folks who could actually use the representation. That was one of the reasons he was so determined to make it onto the Olympic team in a couple years. 

“I get that,” Bucky said, “but think of all those deaf kids who are constantly told they can’t.”

“Bucky, no,” Clint interrupted.

“Don’t they deserve a chance to finally be shown they can?” he continued, undeterred. “How many times have you told me I’m not broken and shouldn’t be ashamed of being different? Why is this any different?”

“It’s not the same!” Clint cried, finally looking up from the hot chocolate to glare at Bucky.

“How is it different?” Bucky demanded. “Just because it’s easier for you to hide your disability doesn’t mean you should!”

“I just can’t, okay!” Clint practically shouted. “I don’t want to be the deaf skater that’s some inspiring story about overcoming setbacks and all that garbage! That’s not what I want. I just want people to see me as a skater!”

“So you change their perceptions!” Bucky shot back, suddenly angry at Clint’s stubbornness. “Tell them that. They’re doing interviews with that article – tell them just because you’re deaf doesn’t make you less of a skater. Tony’s vetting the piece - do you really think he’d let them paint us as sob stories?”

“I still don’t want that,” Clint said, taking an angry sip from his hot chocolate. “Why is this so important to you? Don’t you understand I just want to be left alone?”

Bucky bristled. “Clint, don’t you get it? How many people have tried to get you to quit over the years? People who told you you weren’t good enough, weren’t _whole enough_ to be an athlete? You could be out there showing people that yes, you are enough!”

“Why me, Bucky?” he stood up, shouting. Lucky yelped and scrambled to his feet as the blanket fell off Clint’s shoulders. He stood behind Bucky’s chair as Clint paced the kitchen in an agitated circle, kicking the blanket under the table as he passed by. “Why am I supposed to be the guy people look up to? I’m not any kind of role model! I joined the circus as a pre-teen by forging my dad’s signature. No parent wants their kid using the queer deaf ex-carnie as a role model!”

“Yeah, well I figured no parent wants the one-armed hockey fag with a drug problem as a role model either, but it turns out I was wrong,” Bucky countered, picking the blanket off the floor and holding it out to Clint. “Is this really about them, or is this about your feelings about you?”

Clint stopped pacing. “Shit,” he said, taking the blanket from Bucky.

Bucky opened the packet of oreos and offered one to Clint after he finished wrapping the blanket around his shoulders again. Clint took the oreo, shoved it in his mouth, and grabbed Bucky’s hand, towing him to the living room.

Letting go of Bucky’s hand, he pointed silently to the sulk chair and Bucky sat obediently. Clint climbed onto his lap once Bucky was settled, legs hanging over the arm of the chair. He wrapped his arms around Bucky’s neck and thumped his forehead against Bucky’s chest.

For the second time in less than two weeks, Bucky found himself rubbing circles into Clint’s back, waiting for him to start talking again.

“You don’t understand what it’s like, being hard of hearing,” Clint began, voice slightly muffled by Bucky’s shirt. “You’re not really deaf, you’re not really hearing, and you exist in this weird limbo between the two. I can mostly fake it as a hearing person with my aids, and nobody knows better.”

Bucky kept rubbing Clint’s back, hoping it would encourage him to keep talking. He knew from personal experience how well Clint could pass as hearing with his aids - even after Tony mentioned there was a deaf skater at the facility, it had taken Clint explicitly telling Bucky for him to realize it was him. 

“But the moment I come out as deaf, the hearing folks stop seeing me as a valid person. At best I’m an ‘inspiration’. At worst I’m an invalid who needs to be helped, or the token deaf guy who ‘stole’ a spot from a hearing athlete.”

Bucky bristled. He’d heard similar things about himself, and he hated people who thought like that. 

“And it’s not like the Deaf community’s going to accept me. They’ll just think I’m flaunting it for publicity. I’m not one of them, not really. I use hearing aids and hang out with hearing folks. I’m not part of the Deaf community.”

Bucky squeezed Clint, starting to understand how he’d gotten wrapped up in his own head. “Oh honey,” he said soothingly, “do you really think everyone’s going to judge you if you come out in this article? All your friends know you’re deaf, and if anyone starts spouting any nonsense about you stealing a hearing athlete’s spot, they’re going to meet my fist. The metal one Tony built to withstand hockey brawls, not the one he’s apparently sex-proofing in case you try to rip it off my arm again.”

“Didn’t you- wait, I WHAT?” 

Oh right, he hadn’t told Clint about the whole Natasha incident either. He hadn’t wanted him to question why he was trying to chase her in the first place. 

“Umm, Tony may have gotten some weird ideas into his head.” 

Clint laughed quietly. “You know what, I don’t even want to know. But didn’t you go through like eight of those hockey arms punching people?”

“Yeah, but the newest one’s built out of that weird vibranium composite Tony’s been working on recently. It hasn’t broken in at least five or six brawls and Tony swears they’re gonna be making bulletproof vests out of it soon.”

Clint shifted slightly to grab the oreo packet Bucky had dropped on the floor. “You ever think maybe the solution was for you to stop punching people?” he asked, offering Bucky a cookie after shoving two in his mouth.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Bucky asked. “It wouldn’t be hockey without brawls.”

“And you call me a barbarian,” Clint muttered without much feeling behind it.

“I call you that when you don’t wash your sweaty practice clothes for three weeks and drink coffee straight out of the pot!” Bucky protested. “That’s not the same at all! That’s just expecting you to be a functional adult!”

Clint pouted. “Functional adults aren’t supposed to go around punching people, I’m pretty sure.”

“I’m a hockey player. I’m allowed,” Bucky informed him primly. “So are you going to do that photoshoot for Tony or what?” he asked, changing the subject quickly.

Clint thumped his head back against Bucky’s chest before answering. “Do I have to?”

Bucky sighed. “Technically no, but I think you should. If not for yourself, then for everyone else. It’s good publicity for the Stark Facility, and Tony’s put a lot of work into your hearing aids and making the rink deaf accessible over the years. I know it’s scary putting yourself out there, and Tony’s not going to judge you if you don’t want to do the article, but I guarantee right now there’s some deaf kid who’s looking for a role model in the athletic world.”

Clint shook his head. “I don’t like it,” he said. “You’re probably right, but the thought of telling the world I’m hard of hearing is terrifying.”

“You skate with Natasha,” Bucky said dryly. “I didn’t think anything could scare you.” He knew it wasn’t true, but he wanted to remind Clint how strong he really was. He spent so much time lifting other people up (often literally) that he tended to forget about himself. He’d been through so much getting where he’d gotten, and he was a lot stronger than he gave himself credit for.

Clint laughed at that. “Nat’s not that scary,” he said, smiling for the first time since Bucky had gotten home that night. “You just have to get to know her properly.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Are you forgetting she literally threatened to murder me?”

Clint handwaved that away before sticking another cookie in his mouth. “She wouldn’t have actually done it,” he mumbled, crumbs falling out of his mouth.

Clint may have believed that, but Bucky didn’t think for a second that Natasha wouldn’t have come through on her threat if Bucky hadn’t cleaned up his act. She was fiercely protective of her partner, though she often had some unhealthy ways of showing it. Besides the most recent incident, one time she’d punched Clint in the head to get him out of a bar brawl. When questioned about it, she’d calmly said that it was easier to drag one unconscious Clint out of a fight than it was to punch her way through half a dozen drunken assholes.

While she had a point, Bucky didn’t exactly approve of her method there.

He jiggled his leg to get Clint’s attention. “So you’re doing the article?” he asked when Clint was looking at him.

Clint sighed. “Yeah, I’ll do the article.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww, feelings, not again. 
> 
> Remember when I said I wasn't a sports fan? Well I am a musical theatre fan and _Cabaret_ is one of my favorites.


	5. Chapter 5

Bucky honestly hadn’t expected much to come out of the article. He’d never heard of SportsTek Magazine, and figured the readership couldn’t be very high.

It turned out he was wrong.

Once the article came out, interest in the Stark Facility skyrocketed. People were commuting from all over New York just to take advantage of the inclusive facility. It felt like one morning he was one of the few disabled athletes on the campus, and the next morning he was seeing people using assistive devices everywhere he turned.

“Hey man, I gotta thank you,” a guy using a wheelchair stopped Bucky as he was heading into the locker room one day. “I play with a sledge hockey team that used to practice out in Laurelton, but one of my buddies read that article and convinced the team to move practices out here. At first I was annoyed about the extra commute time, but this place is amazing!”

“Uhhh,” Bucky replied, unsure how to respond to that much enthusiasm after a particularly grueling practice. Coach Peggy had made them do what felt like a thousand burpees and everything hurt.

“My last gym there was only one wheelchair accessible shower, and it was always taken by some dad with their kid,” the guy continued, seemingly oblivious to Bucky’s exhaustion “Here the whole team can use any shower we want to, and not only can our chairs fit through any of the locker rows, but there’s enough room to get to all of the equipment on the gym proper!”

Bucky smiled as his brain finally caught up with the conversation. “I never thought about the shower thing,” he admitted. “That’s gotta suck, feeling all sweaty and gross after practice and having to wait around for the one shower you can use.”

“You would not believe-” the guy said, pausing as he took in Bucky’s disheveled appearance. “Or maybe you would. Sorry, I’m keeping you from doing exactly that, aren’t I?”

Bucky laughed. “No worries,” he said, “that wasn’t a dig at you. I really hadn’t thought about it before. I feel like sometimes we get so wrapped up in our own stuff we forget everyone else exists.”

“Amen to that, brother,” the guy said, holding his hand out for a fistbump which Bucky obliged. “You should come play with us some time,” he suggested. “We’ve got loaner sleds and it’d be a real honor to have you stop by a practice.” 

“To watch me humiliate myself?” Bucky asked, smiling, mock-offended. “How about I just come to one of your games so I don’t have to embarrass myself by failing to defend the goal when I can’t use my leg pads to block shots? I wouldn’t even know what to do with myself on a sled.” 

“I’m sure you’d pick it up quick,” the guy said with a laugh. “But I know the team wouldn’t complain if you wanted to come cheer us on at a game or two. My name’s Dylan, by the way.” 

“Nice to meet you, Dylan,” Bucky said, reaching out for a handshake. “I’ll definitely make it out to some of your games. I’ll try to bring my husband - Clint, the figure skater in the article,” he added, “so he can meet you too. He wasn’t too keen about being in the piece, so I think he’d appreciate hearing from some folks who enjoyed reading it.”

While Bucky had responded to his newfound popularity by starting up an anti-bullying campaign, Clint was still reeling a bit from his sudden celebrity among the deaf athlete community. Despite his fears, most of the deaf community had been thrilled to welcome him into their midst. There were a few haters, of course, who thought Clint wasn’t deaf enough to call himself that, but for the most part they’d been delighted that he’d come out.

After one of Clint’s regional competitions, Bucky had been congratulating him when a pre-teen girl wearing a swim team hoodie ran up to Clint holding their SportsTek issue and a pen. He was a little confused as to why a swimmer was so excited to see Clint until she started signing rapidly. Bucky didn’t catch most of it because his ASL was still pretty terrible, but he did understand the repeated ‘thank you’s.

When Clint finished signing the magazine and gave her a hug, he turned back to Bucky, eyes bright with tears. “Fuck, I get it now,” he whispered.

“What did she say?” Bucky asked, sitting down on a bench and patting the spot next to him.

Clint sat and grabbed Bucky’s hand, intertwining their fingers. “She talked about how it was hard going to swim competitions because sometimes they wouldn’t have a light for her and she would miss the starting shot. She was thinking about quitting because she didn’t like being the only deaf swimmer, but then her friend gave her a copy of that article and now she wants to be the first deaf swimmer to win a gold medal at the Olympics. She said she didn’t think deaf people could go to the regular Olympics.” 

“See,” Bucky said softly, bumping his shoulder into Clint’s, “it’s not so bad, is it?” 

Clint’s head dropped onto Bucky’s shoulder and he sighed heavily. “No, I guess it’s not so bad.”

*

Clint didn’t like to admit it, but he was kind of glad Bucky had convinced him to do that article in SportsTek magazine. Yeah, it was nice talking to all the deaf kids, but the biggest change had been the relief of not having to hide a piece of himself any longer. He could be open about asking for visual accommodations without the constant anxiety that it would get back to the press. 

It honestly made his life so much easier, even if it meant Natasha had taken a sudden glee in calling him derogatory names in ASL from across the ice during practice. 

Today they were getting their new free skate routine from the choreographer, but whatever excitement Clint had been feeling was dying rapidly as he read through the new program. This couldn’t be right.

Clint looked up from the piece of paper Coulson had handed him with a look of horror. This routine was a suicide run. There was a triple-triple-double combination and he’d put the quintuple throw jump in the second half of the routine. And _Natasha_ was anchoring the death spiral? What the hell was Coulson on when he choreographed this? 

“The fuck is this, man?” Clint finally asked. “Are you trying to kill us?” 

“No,” Coulson said calmly, adjusting his tie slightly. “I’m trying to win you a second Olympic gold.” 

“By killing us. You know they don’t give out posthumous medals, right?” 

Clint looked over at Natasha for support, but she was looking at Coulson and nodding slowly. This couldn’t be serious. This must be some elaborate joke between the two of them. 

“I’m in,” she told their insane choreographer. 

“What?” Clint yelled, probably too loudly judging by the looks he got. “Did you read the same routine that I did? Did you see the quint is in the _second half_?” 

Natasha shrugged. “I’m the one doing most of the work on that jump, I don’t see why you’re so concerned.” 

Clint gaped at her. She might be the one doing the jumping, but he still had to give her enough lift to make it through all five turns. “Are you insane? Do you not remember you _broke your foot_ getting the quint in practices? We can’t do that when we’re already tired.” 

“It was just a stress fracture, stop being so dramatic,” Natasha snapped. “If you don’t have the stamina to keep up through this program, maybe I need to find another partner.” 

Clint’s mouth dropped open as Fury started laughing. 

“You better suck it up, Clint,” Fury said between laughs. “You know Nat’s never finding another partner. For better or worse, we all know you’re the Black Widow’s final victim.” 

Natasha looked put out, but she didn’t try to deny their coach’s words. She knew her reputation in the skating community as well as Fury did. Clint was going to be her last partner - she would never find anyone else willing to put up with her personality and insane training requirements. 

“Maybe it’s time to retire,” Clint grumbled, feeling mutinous. 

Natasha’s head snapped up as she leveled him with a glare. “You wouldn’t dare,” she hissed angrily. 

“I won’t because I love this stupid sport, but if I were a smarter man I’d walk away right now.” Clint waved the paper with the new routine in her face. “This routine will break us. This is a suicidal program and you’re crazier than I thought if you don’t see that.” 

“You guys can pull it off,” Fury interrupted. “It’s hard, but I know you guys can do it. Your quintuple has improved dramatically in the last six months, and if you put in the practice time, I have faith you can land it. I asked Coulson to add it to the second half. You’re the only pair landing the quint consistently, and the bump in points would make you unbeatable.” 

Natasha gave Clint an I-told-you-so look and he rolled his eyes. 

“Just don’t expect me to pick you up off the ice after you break your face.” 

“Yeah, whatever,” Natasha said, blowing off his concerns. Clint wasn’t surprised; she was as crazy as Fury. He was more shocked that Coulson had gone along with it. Their choreographer was usually the most cautious of the bunch. “You ready to try this out or not?” 

Clint huffed, frustrated at Natasha’s impatience and obvious insanity. “Fine, let’s get this shitshow on the road,” he grumbled, handing the paper with their routine back to Coulson. “Traitor,” he muttered under his breath. 

Coulson raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. 

The first run through went about as well as first run throughs typically went. Their timing was a mess, the death spiral was a wobbly disaster, but when they finished the routine Coulson was nodding and even Fury looked vaguely satisfied. 

“Not completely awful,” Fury said, pressing a few buttons on the remote that controlled the rink’s sound system. “Do it again.” 

So they did it again. And again. And again. 

Fury and Coulson stopped them constantly on the subsequent run throughs, tweaking footwork and positioning, or making them repeat the same few seconds over and over until they got the timing right. Natasha did it all with a fierce grin of determination as Clint relaxed into the familiarity of routine, anger at the difficult program slowly fading away as exhaustion took over. 

By the time they were done for the day, Clint was about ready to collapse. He was pretty sure he’d accidentally fallen asleep in the sauna, and it was only Thor’s booming voice in the locker room as he bragged about his lifts that had woken him up and saved him from roasting himself into heart failure. 

Clint managed to make his way home without any further incidents, but one look into the refrigerator told him there was no way he was trying to cook something tonight. That was what takeout was invented for. 

He would have opted for delivery because at this point he just wanted to collapse on the couch, but Lucky was dancing around his feet in a way that made his needs very clear. Since he’d be going out anyway, there was no sense in waiting for a delivery driver to get lost or stuck in traffic while getting to their apartment. 

There was a reason he and Bucky had chosen an apartment walking distance to a pizza parlor. Well, Bucky had said something about the accessibility of public transit and walkability scores and like, decent plumbing, but for Clint it had been all about the pizza places. 

He knew what was important to him, and the plumbing wasn’t it. 

Their apartment was also down the street from a coffee shop, which was Clint’s first stop after the tree outside for Lucky to do his business. He supposed that technically made it his second stop, he thought as he tied Lucky to a post outside. 

“Stay there and be good, okay?” he said to the dog. “No clotheslining people in the hopes they’ll drop some pizza. We’re going there next, I promise.” 

Lucky panted at him in response. He supposed it was the best he could hope for and went inside to order the biggest cup of coffee he could buy. Today had been exhausting; he needed all the coffee. 

*

Today may have been the hardest day of Bucky’s life. Sure, most people would have said the day he lost his arm was the hardest, but he couldn’t actually remember a lot from that day and it wasn’t like he’d been the one having to do things. The day he accidentally hurt Clint and made the decision to go into rehab had been the previous front runner, but today was shaping up to overtake that. 

It had started out well enough. 

“Bucky, there’s someone here to talk to you,” Coach Peggy had said as the team came off the ice after their first scrimmage of the day. It had been a more heated game than usual, but Bucky had still managed to block most of the shots that came his way.

“Yes, Coach,” Bucky had said, clomping off the ice in his bulky goalie attire. He shed his mask and gloves before looking around and seeing a stranger a few rows up in the stands. He waved and was debating taking off the bulk of his uniform before going up to meet the man when he stood up and started walking towards Bucky. That solved one problem, he supposed. 

As he made his way towards Bucky, Bucky noticed the man was holding a clipboard and broke out in a cold sweat. The only people who used clipboards at the rink were coaches and recruiters and Bucky already knew all the coaches. 

“Hi James,” the man said, solidifying Bucky’s fear. Nobody called him James except strangers reading his name off paperwork. 

“Hey,” Bucky grunted, taking the guy’s hand when he held it out to shake. “Most people call me Bucky.” 

“Hi Bucky,” the man said, not batting an eye over the unusual nickname. “I’m Jacob, a recruiter for the Arizona Coyotes. How would you like to talk about a career in the NHL?” 

Bucky’s cold sweat grew even colder. He wasn’t ready for this! He was supposed to go to the Olympics, then get recruited for the National Hockey League. This was all backwards. “Uhhh,” he said, stalling as his brain tried to catch up with reality. 

“I’m sure this isn’t much of a shock to you, but your career has been of great interest to us in the League,” Jacob the recruiter continued as if Bucky has said something of value. “Why don’t you get changed into something more comfortable and we can go to lunch and talk over the details.” 

“Uhh, sure,” Bucky said, still not entirely sure about what was going on. It wasn’t April Fools, was it? No, no, it was July, Steve had just had his birthday a week ago and their second wedding anniversary was coming up. Besides, he didn’t think Coach Peggy would be in on a prank like that.

He got through a quick shower on autopilot, ignoring the raucous chatter from the rest of the team. The Arizona Coyotes… why did it have to be a team in the southwest? Why couldn’t it have been the Islanders or the Rangers or even the Sabres? Why did it have to be the team clear across the country that wanted him to play for them? 

Now that he thought about it, Coach had hinted that something like this might happen. But Bucky thought she had been joking or like… delusional. No professional team was going to want him until he proved himself at the Olympics. If he even went to the Olympics. If he took a job with the NHL he wouldn’t get to play at the Olympics. 

As Bucky tried to tie up his sweatpants and couldn’t find the string, he realized he’d put them on backwards. Oh god, he was a mess. He was like Clint-level distracted, and he needed to pull himself together before he went and talked to this recruiter. He threw his arms up in a power pose after getting his pants sorted and would have felt pretty ridiculous if it wasn’t something they all regularly did in the locker room before games. 

“You got this,” Gabe said, bumping his shoulder with a fist as he walked by. 

Bucky smiled. “Thanks,” he said. His team was the best. 

“Hey there, Bucky,” Jacob the recruiter said, looking up from his phone as Bucky exited the locker room. 

“Hey,” Bucky replied, raising a hand in a half-hearted wave. The nerves he’d been trying to keep at bay felt like a wave crashing down on him, and it took a lot of willpower to not turn and run back to the safety of the locker room. 

“So,” Jacob started, “how about we grab lunch while we discuss your career? I made a lunch reservation at Ultron’s since I bet you’re sick of eating in the gym cafeteria.” 

Bucky tried to remember to stand up straight and not hunch over on himself. He wanted to make a good impression, after all. “Sure, that sounds good.” 

Jacob made small talk as they walked to the craft brewery a few blocks outside the Stark Facility campus. It was a nice place - they did a mean loaded grilled cheese - but it was also where the press loved to hang out, hoping to snap a tabloid-worthy picture of the athletes outside their natural environment. 

Once the host seated them and handed them their menus, Bucky expected Jacob to start his pitch. To his surprise, Jacob just leaned back in the booth and started scanning the menu. 

“What’s good?” he asked, as if he didn’t take every Stark Facility player he was trying to recruit here. It wasn’t like there were many restaurants in the area. It was pretty much this place, the gym cafeteria, and a fancy breakfast cafe. 

Bucky shrugged, trying to act at ease. “I’m a fan of the loaded grilled cheese,” he said, opening up the menu to see if anything had changed since he was here last. It didn’t look like it. 

“Mmm, that does sound good. I might have to try that,” Jacob said, continuing to scan the menu. “Oh yeah, since you’re actually old enough, feel free to get a beer if you want. Lunch is on me.” 

Bucky wasn’t sure how he felt about the reminder that most of the people being drafted into the NHL were basically kids. 

“Uhh, thanks. I don’t actually drink, though.” 

“Watching the carbs, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Bucky lied. His actual reasons for not drinking were a little too personal to discuss with a stranger at what was basically a job interview. “Don’t let me stop you, though. My husband says the house amber is real nice if you like lighter beers.” 

Jacob twitched slightly at the word ‘husband’ - something Bucky would have missed if he hadn’t been looking directly at him. 

The excited anxiety he’d been trying to push away about talking to an NHL recruiter morphed into dread as he remembered how, well, hypocritical the NHL could be about gay rights. Despite their partnership with the You Can Play Project, they still didn’t have any openly gay players. If he took the job with the Coyotes, he’d be the first. Was he ready for that? 

Bucky had been out since middle school, and while of course he’d had his share of incidents, he tended to forget how a majority of the country would view his relationship with Clint. They were insulated from a lot of the hate living in New York and training at the Stark Facility. Taking a job with the NHL and moving to Arizona would change that. 

Being part of the NHL would put him out there much more than playing with the Howlies did. It would put Clint out there a lot more too. Not that Clint wasn’t already used to the constant reality of being in the public eye, but as much as Bucky hated to admit it, hockey fans could be a bit less accepting than figure skating fans. 

“Is that gonna be a problem?” Bucky asked. 

Jacob’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Hmm? You not drinking because you’re watching your carbs? That’s fine, I get it.” 

“No, my husband,” Bucky said a little more aggressively than he intended. 

“Oh, uhh,” Jacob stalled, “that shouldn’t be a problem. I mean, a lot of our players are private and keep the media away from their families.” 

Bucky blinked. He didn’t like the sound of that. That sounded a lot like they expected him to keep Clint hidden away. “Clint’s in the media just as much as I am,” he said slowly, trying to rein in his growing temper. “The media isn’t going to be a problem. How you feel about having an openly gay man on your hockey team is what I’m concerned about.” 

Jacob paled slightly, putting the menu on the table before answering Bucky. “I mean, nobody on the team’s going to have a problem with that, of course. Most of our players like to keep their private lives private, so I assumed you’d be the same. My apologies; we’d be happy to have the first openly gay player in the NHL and we have a public relations team to help you navigate all that, of course.” 

Bucky couldn’t deny he was a smooth talker, though he still couldn’t figure out the guy’s angle. It wasn’t just Bucky’s mad goalie skills or they’d have tried recruiting him ages ago before he lost the arm. They had to have some angle, but Bucky couldn’t tell if it was the amputee thing, the gay thing, or... 

“Are they gonna help me navigate how to spin my sordid drug-addicted past too?” he asked, taking a gamble and fervently hoping Jacob had already known that fact about Bucky’s history. It wasn’t something he tried to hide, but it also wasn’t something he actively flaunted. 

After the accident when he lost his arm, Bucky had become addicted to prescription painkillers. It had taken an aggressive intervention from Natasha and Coach Fury of all people to convince him he had a problem. Bucky had gone to rehab and gotten his life back on track, but it would always be something he struggled with. He had a suspicious feeling the NHL would have some kind of opinion on the matter. 

“We can go over those details as we discuss the contract, but yes, that’s something our PR team can help with as well,” Jacob said evenly after a moment’s pause. 

Yep, Bucky had to hand it to him, this guy was hard to phase. And if he was still willing to discuss a contract, Bucky probably hadn’t killed his chance of playing in the NHL entirely. 

After they ordered their food and Jacob started going over the details of the contract, Bucky became more and more agitated. The money was good. The money was beyond good, actually, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. 

There was nothing overtly concerning about the contract. There were a bunch of kids on the Howlies with NHL draft contracts, and from what Bucky could tell everything about this one seemed pretty normal. Beyond the major differences due to bypassing the draft system, this contract seemed pretty similar to all of theirs. 

When their food arrived, Jacob paused his spiel, but Bucky couldn’t shake the feeling that everything about signing this contract was a bad idea. It didn’t make sense; Steve and he had spent so many hours as kids dreaming about the day they signed with the NHL. Stevie had to give up on that dream, but against all odds it seemed like Bucky had actually made it. 

So why did it feel like he was getting ready to sign his life away? 

Bucky chewed thoughtfully on his cheeseburger, thinking about the first time he’d gone out for burgers with Clint. They’d barely known each other at the time and Clint had offered to treat him to a hamburger in an attempt to get him to open up about his feelings. Of course, being Clint, he’d accidentally left Bucky with the bill as he rushed to a practice session - a fact Bucky still enjoyed rubbing in his face on occasion. 

They’d almost had their first kiss that day, except Clint had chickened out and Bucky had gotten confused after Clint mentioned living with Natasha, incorrectly assuming the pair were a couple. Clint had a good laugh over that when Bucky had finally told him about it. Apparently the pair had hooked up once during a competition in Budapest when they were both still teenagers and it had gone so well that by mutual agreement it was never spoken of again. 

Clint had sworn Bucky to secrecy after that confession, despite Bucky’s protests that secrets weren’t good for the soul. Apparently Fury didn’t even know about it, though knowing Fury he knew all about it and was saving that knowledge for future leverage against them. 

Bucky forced his attention back to Jacob, who was explaining a point in the housing section about the option of billeting with an older player, and suddenly realized Clint wouldn’t be moving with him. Clint needed to stay in New York and Bucky couldn’t ask him to move for him. Bucky _wouldn’t_ ask him to move for him. Clint’s career depended on him staying in New York where his coach and partner were. He couldn’t follow his husband halfway across the country and Bucky would never ask him to. 

It didn’t mean Bucky wouldn’t miss him like hell, though. Even when they barely saw each other during the months they were both travelling for games and competitions, Clint was his rock. If they were living apart, Bucky wouldn’t find sticky notes with hearts hidden in his gear when travelling for away games. He wouldn’t be able to leave Clint chocolate-covered espresso beans hidden in his favorite mug. 

Thinking about Clint again made him wonder how the NHL would try to spin that relationship. 

Despite Jacob’s earlier reaction, his marriage was probably relatively safe from the worst of the Coyotes’ PR department. Their press and media restrictions were strict - from what Bucky could understand of the contract everything needed to be vetted by the team’s PR department - but at least they couldn’t try to force him back in the closet. If that got out the bad press would be monumental. They might try to parade him around, being their token ‘out’ player, but Bucky figured he could handle whatever they threw at him. At this point he was used to attention - having his face plastered over a bunch of rainbow shit couldn’t be any worse than the banner ads he’d done for Tony’s skates and maybe he could finally convince Tony to make those rainbow skates he’d been wanting for years. 

And sure, the team could make his life a living hell if they decided they didn’t like having a gay guy on the team, but any team that decided to purposefully antagonize their goalie would have to be pretty dumb. 

Honestly, it was their PR plan surrounding his addiction that Bucky was really worried about. Every time he’d tried to bring it up, Jacob had skirted around the question, telling him not to worry about it and that their PR team had plenty of experience with situations like his. It sounded a lot like they expected him to sweep his struggles with addiction under the rug and Bucky didn’t like that one bit. 

As Jacob rattled off some information about off-season sports restrictions, Bucky realized he’d already made up his mind. Secrets weren’t good for the soul, and he knew in his heart what his choice needed to be. There was no point in drawing this out any longer. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can do this,” Bucky interrupted Jacob. 

“Pardon?” 

Bucky took a deep breath. “Thank you for lunch, and thank you for considering me, but I can’t sign this contract. Unless you can guarantee - in writing,” he added, “that your PR team won’t let me be open about who I am - addiction and all - I can’t sign with you.” He bit his tongue with the urge to apologize, but he’d gotten enough ‘know-your-worth’ lectures from Coach Peggy over the years to realize saying sorry would be apologizing for the wrong things. 

Jacob stared at Bucky, hand paused halfway to his water glass. “You know I can’t guarantee that,” he said slowly. 

“I know, and I’m sorry this didn’t work out,” Bucky replied. He actually was sorry for that. 

Jacob looked floored. He probably didn’t get turned down much - there were far more NHL hopefuls than there were available spots on teams. 

“We could try to negotiate a higher salary,” Jacob offered, but Bucky shook his head quickly. 

“Thank you, but no,” he said with a brief pang of regret for the sheer amount of money he was turning down. Some things were just more important than money. 

“You’re turning down a once in a lifetime opportunity, you know. Once you leave this table you can’t change your mind. I won’t be offering you a contract again,” Jacob threatened. 

“I know,” Bucky said, sweat trickling down his back as he stood up. “Thank you for the offer, but I’ll stay with the Howlies.” 

Walking away was hard, but he knew he’d made the right decision. He needed to live his truth, and hiding a major part of himself wasn’t something he could do in good conscience. Now he just had to get back to the rink and tell Coach Peggy before she found out through the rumor mill known as Tony Stark. 

Everyone knew Tony kept the waitstaff at Ultron’s on payroll, ensuring they made a living wage while he had access to all the gossip they overheard from their tables. He claimed it just made sense to keep his finger on the pulse of what was happening with his athletes. Bucky thought it was a bit too much spying for his taste, which was why he generally avoided dining at Ultron’s if he could. 

Bucky hustled through the building, past the rows of trophy cases, hoping Coach Peggy was in her office and available to chat. It appeared he was in luck, as he spotted her open door. 

She took one look at him as he walked in and said, “you turned them down”. It wasn’t a question. 

Bucky nodded, collapsing into one of the chairs in front of her desk. She walked past him to close the door and laid a hand on the back of his neck. 

“What have I done?” he whispered, the enormity of the decision crashing down on him. 

Peggy squeezed his neck and ruffled his hair in a rare gesture of affection. “You made a choice,” she said simply. 

Bucky twisted in the chair to look up at her. “But was it the right one?” 

Peggy stared at him for a long moment. “I suppose that depends on the reasons behind it. Were they the right reasons?” 

Bucky took a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm down his racing thoughts. 

“I think so?” 

“Only you know what’s right for you,” she told him, going back to sit behind her desk and steepling her fingers. “Sure, most people would jump at the opportunity to play for the Coyotes, but you aren’t most people. To be honest, most people aren’t most people, but they just blindly follow the path in front of them without stopping to think it might not be the right one for them.” 

Bucky gulped and blinked tears from his eyes. He’d been so scared that Peggy would yell at him for making a bad career move that he never considered she might actually approve. He wasn’t prepared to handle those kinds of emotions. 

“I’m proud of you for making that hard decision, and I’m not just saying that because I get to keep you on my team,” Peggy told him with a small smile. “But we’ve got another practice in just over an hour, so you’d better have your freakout quick and pull yourself back together. I expect you to have your head in order when you get back out on the ice this afternoon.” 

“Yes Coach,” Bucky said automatically, standing up because he knew a dismissal when he heard one. He was going to go have a nap and hope everything seemed a little clearer after getting some sleep. He still had to find a way to go home and tell Clint he’d made a decision with financial repercussions that would affect both their lives. 

*

Nearly an hour after his trip to the coffee shop, Clint kicked open the door of their apartment, dropping Lucky’s leash as he juggled a couple of pizza boxes and a sadly empty coffee cup. Lucky bounded over to the couch, trailing the leash and jumping up to lick Bucky’s face. 

“Hey honey,” Clint called out as he hip checked the door shut. “You would never believe what mad thing Coulson put together for our free skate program. I also got the chicken and mushroom pizza from Tulfino. I hope you didn’t have other dinner plans.” 

“That’s fine,” Bucky said, walking over with Lucky’s leash and hanging it on the hook by the door. 

Clint leaned over to give Bucky a hug and a kiss, but halted with his hand halfway around Bucky’s waist. Bucky’s eyes were blank and he looked absolutely gutted. 

“Woah, sweetheart, what’s going on? Is everyone okay?” 

Bucky nodded his head mutely and grabbed Clint’s hand, pulling him to the couch. He flopped on the couch and Clint wordlessly climbed on top of him like a human blanket after depositing the pizza on the coffee table. He laid his head on Bucky’s chest while Bucky petted his hair. 

After a few minutes of this, Bucky took a deep breath and said, “I got offered a position with the Coyotes today.” 

Clint’s eyes widened as he tamped down his elation. This should have been great news, but Bucky’s demeanor was setting off warning bells in his head. “That’s amazing, Bucky. Why does your face look like someone died?” 

Bucky turned his head to the left before answering. “I turned them down.” 

“What?” Clint lifted himself off Bucky’s chest to look him directly in the face. “Why?” 

Bucky was refusing to look Clint in the eye, which did nothing to help the warning bells still ringing in Clint’s head. “They’re in Arizona.” 

“I’ve been married to you for almost two years, Buck. I know the Arizona Coyotes are in Arizona. Yeah, the southwest seems like a dumb place to have a major league hockey team, but the Vegas Golden Knights are in the middle of freaking Death Valley, so what do I know? Definitely not why you’d turn down a job in the NHL.” 

Bucky squirmed under him, still refusing to make eye contact. 

“Talk to me, honey. What’s going on?”

Bucky let out a long sigh. “I can’t move to Arizona,” he said. 

“What do you mean you can’t move to Arizona?” Clint asked. “Are you wanted there for tax evasion or something?” 

Bucky shook his head, not even smiling at Clint’s bad joke or trying to put him in a headlock or anything. That really wasn’t a good sign. 

“Is it because of the melting trash cans?” Clint prodded, trying to get Bucky to open up. “You know, I’ve always wanted to fry an egg on the sidewalk.” 

“You wouldn’t be coming with me, though,” Bucky whispered finally. “You can’t leave the Stark Facility.” 

Oh yeah. Clint had forgotten about that. He had to stay where his coach was, and that was New York. “I could still visit you, though.” 

Bucky shook his head. “It wouldn’t be the same,” he said, refusing to meet Clint’s eyes.

“Hey,” Clint said, poking him in the crease of his hip. He knew that would get his attention because Bucky’s hips were always sore after a long practice day. “Please tell me you didn’t turn down the Coyotes because I can’t move with you to Arizona.” 

“No,” Bucky said with another shake of his head and Clint let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He didn’t think Bucky would make such a big decision based on Clint’s career without even talking to him first, but he was acting so weird today that Clint couldn’t be sure. 

“I turned them down because they wouldn’t give me a straight answer about how they’d handle the press about my addiction.” 

Oh. That made a lot of sense. “You’re worried they’d try to make you hide it?” Clint asked. 

“Yeah,” Bucky said, finally looking him in the eye. “Do you think that’s stupid?” 

“Oh Buck,” Clint said softly, scooching his arms under Bucky to give him an awkward hug, “it’s not stupid if it’s important to you. And it’s clearly important to you,” he added, rising back up on his elbows to nuzzle Bucky’s chin with his nose. 

“It was a lot of money,” Bucky all but whispered. 

Clint was glad Bucky couldn’t see his face from this angle, because he wasn’t sure how well he managed to school his expression as he squashed a flash of disappointment. Even a starting NHL salary would have gone a long way to making sure that big family they were planning for would be well taken care of. 

“Money ain’t everything,” he told Bucky. 

“Yeah,” Bucky admitted. “But I coulda been the first out player in the NHL. That woulda been somethin’,” he said wistfully. 

Clint dropped his head back onto Bucky’s chest. He had no idea how to respond to that, which probably made him the worst husband ever. He was supposed to be supportive and reassuring, but hell if he knew how to do that right now. 

“Yeah, but would it have been worth hiding a part of yourself?” Clint asked quietly. 

He felt Bucky shift under him, and then Clint found himself wrapped in a bone-crushing hug. 

“Thank you,” Bucky said, voice thick with emotion. 

Huh, it turned out he did know how to do that after all. “Everything’ll turn out,” he told Bucky, voice muffled from where his face was being squashed in Bucky’s shirt. “Just give me a few years and we’ll move anywhere you want, okay?” 


	6. Chapter 6

Suggesting that he retire out loud last year had seemed to spark something in Clint. When he'd said it to Nat out on the ice he hadn't meant it. It had just been a moment of anger, mouthing off about a difficult routine. But once he'd said it in that roundabout way to Bucky, he couldn't stop thinking about it. 

He wasn’t sure how long he could keep doing this. He was in his late twenties now - practically ancient for a figure skater. What with NHL recruiters showing an interest in Bucky, maybe it was time to hang up his skates and support Bucky’s career. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t be able to find a coaching position anywhere he went - the gold medal pretty much guaranteed him a job as a coach for the rest of his life. 

And… kids. He and Bucky had been dancing around the idea of kids for a couple years now. Neither of them had the kind of career that could support that, but if he retired… kids were a possibility. He couldn't wait to have a pack of munchkins toddling around on their first pair of skates. 

He was just worried about Natasha’s reaction. He wasn’t sure if she was ready to call it quits yet, but even without her unsavory reputation she was getting too old to be breaking in a new skating partner. It wasn’t just Clint’s career that would be ending if he decided to hang up his skates. 

They had another year until the Olympics were over; maybe that would be a good time to retire. Get one last Olympics in, then call it quits. If they medaled they’d be ending on a high note. If they didn’t, well, they weren’t likely to in another 4 years. 

Clint sighed, resting his forehead on his clasped hands. He didn’t want to do this to Nat, but he was just so tired. He didn’t think he had another five plus years of ten hour practice days in him. 

*

As Natasha skated off the rink, Clint circled back around to intercept Coach Fury. 

“Hey Coach, do you have a few minutes to chat?” 

Fury raised an eyebrow. “We need to go to my office?” 

“Uhh, if you don’t mind?” Clint asked, hesitant now. His stomach felt leaden and heavy. He was actually going to put his intention to quit skating out in the world. He hoped Nick wouldn’t take it as an offense. 

“Sure, meet me there after you’ve cleaned up. I don’t need you stinking up my office.” 

“Yes Coach,” Clint said, the familiar words rolling off his lips. This way he could literally ‘come clean’ to his coach. 

After he’d showered and changed, Clint found himself outside Fury’s office in a cold sweat. He’d just washed up too; this was so unfair. Bracing himself for the worst, Clint knocked on the door. 

“Come in,” came the response. 

“Hey Coach,” Clint said, closing the door behind him. 

Fury gestured to the seat in front of his desk. “What did you want to talk about?” 

“Ummm.” This was harder than he thought it would be. “My career?” 

Fury looked disappointed. “You mean you want to quit.” 

“No! Well, yes. But not right now,” Clint stammered, heart pounding. “Maybe after the Olympics? I just - I mean - I’m tired, Nick. I’m constantly tired and everything hurts all the time and I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this.” Clint was trying not to whine, but he wasn’t sure he was succeeding. “I’m so sorry,” he said quietly. 

Fury was shaking his head slowly. “Is there another reason too? I know Barnes turned down the job with the Coyotes last year and a couple of the other NHL teams have been making noises about trying to recruit him.” 

Clint looked up sharply. He had a second of shock that Fury had found that out before remembering Fury always knew everything. He probably had the rink bugged. That wouldn’t surprise Clint in the slightest. “Yeah, maybe,” Clint admitted. “I mean, he’s my husband. I can’t keep asking him to support my career if I’m not willing to support his.” 

“You’d live in another state for him?” 

Clint shrugged. “Sure, if that’s what it takes for him to live his dream. Not like we’ll be far from a rink, no matter where he ends up.” 

Fury cocked his head, considering Clint for a few seconds. “I’ll hate to lose you, but you’d make a decent coach. You know there’s no going back once you quit, right? You leave, that’s it. You’ll never get back into competitions. No take backs, no do-overs. Once you’re done, you’re done. Forever.” 

Clint swallowed, trying not to tear up. Fury telling him he’d make a decent coach might be the nicest thing he’d ever said to him. “Yeah,” he said quietly, “I know.” 

“You tell Natasha yet?” 

Clint looked down and shook his head. “No, I wanted to talk to you first. You… don’t think I’m being dumb?” 

Fury waited to respond until Clint looked up and met his eye. “I think you need to do what’s right for you. If you wanted to quit before the Olympics, I’d tell you that’s a stupid ass decision. You guys have an excellent chance to win a second gold with Coulson’s program, and I’d be pissed if you were giving that up. But no one’s skating career lasts forever,” he said, gesturing to his face. “I can’t blame you for wanting to leave on your own terms, no matter how disappointed I am to see you go. I’ve been coaching you for over ten years, Clint. You’re one of the best I’ve ever seen, but I have to accept that I can’t keep you as a pupil forever.”

*

Clint approached Nat’s door, taking a moment to steady himself before knocking on her door. This was scarier than any competition he’d ever been in. This was even scarier than telling Coach Fury. 

“Hey Clint,” she said, raising an eyebrow when she opened the door. 

“Hey,” he replied weakly. His stomach roiled. He’d be lucky to make it out of here in one piece. He considered bailing on the thing entirely but... he needed to do this. Not just for him, but for Bucky. “Can I come inside?” 

Natasha stepped to the side and gestured into the room. She closed the door behind them when Clint walked inside and leaned against the frame. It was still weird seeing their room after he'd left to live with Bucky. Little had changed since he’d moved out. Sure, she’d replaced his bed with a couch and a small workout space, but everything else looked pretty much the same. It wasn’t like she needed much - they spent most of their time at the rink after all. 

Clint flopped down on the couch, wrapping himself in the blanket thrown over the back. He really didn’t want to be having this conversation. 

“What’s eating you?” 

Clint gulped. He’d rehearsed this in his head over and over. He could do this. “I think I want to retire after the Olympics are over,” he blurted out. No use beating around the bush. It was easier to just rip off the bandaid. 

Natasha frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. 

Fuck. Clint was a dead man. 

“Okay,” she said. 

Wait, what? Natasha was okay with that? 

“It’s pretty clear your heart’s not in it the way it used to be,” she continued, uncrossing her arms and going to sit on the bed across from Clint. “I can’t say I’m happy about it, but you don’t need to look so shocked. I saw this coming. I can read you like a book, remember?” 

Clint tugged the blanket tighter around himself. He had been so prepared for a fight he didn’t know what to do with himself. “You’re really okay with that?” he mumbled. 

Natasha sighed and flopped back on the bed dramatically. “I mean, not really, but I don’t have much of a choice, do I? I can’t do this without you, and if you don’t want to do this anymore I’ve got to find a way to make peace with that.” She sat back up to look Clint in the eye. “You better give me everything you’ve got until the Olympics, though. If it’s my last Olympics, I want a second gold, dammit.” 

Clint gulped, knowing if he promised she would hold him to his word. Way to go out with a bang, he supposed. “Okay,” he promised. “We work our asses off until the Olympics and then we get to retire.” 

“Good,” she said, looking satisfied. “I’m holding you to that.” 

“I know,” Clint said, relaxing on the couch now that the hard part was over. “You’re gonna make me suffer so much. It’s gonna be awful.” 

Natasha smiled her scary feral smile. “That’s right it will. If you’re going to make me find a new career, I’m going to make you suffer through every moment of the next year with me.” 

“I mean, there’s always endorsements,” Clint suggested halfheartedly. No respectable skater actually wanted their face all over cereal boxes, but whatever paid the bills. 

Natasha made a disgusted face. “Clint, I would be a hooker before I sold myself out doing endorsements.” 

“Don't insult sex workers,” he said automatically. 

“Fine,” she huffed. “I would be a plumber before I start doing commercials selling overpriced sneakers.” 

Clint nodded. “Always in demand, plumbers. Though you’d need to go to technical school and get an apprenticeship before getting your license.” 

Natasha stared at him. “Why do you know this?” 

“I know lots of things,” Clint said with a shrug. 

She shook her head. “There’s something seriously wrong with you, you know.” 

“Course I do,” Clint laughed. “I partner you. Nobody sane would put up with your crazy training.” 

It was Nat’s turn to laugh. “Oh buddy, just you wait. You’re ending my career - you ain’t seen nothing yet.” 

Ah yes, there it was. He was totally a dead man. She was just gonna work him to death instead of like, stabbing him. Honestly, he wasn’t sure which he’d prefer. At least the stabbing would be quick. Typical Nat, wanting to make him suffer. Ah, well. He’d had a good run. 

*

True to her word, Natasha worked Clint like a dog. Clint wasn’t sure where that saying even came from - Lucky was one of the laziest people he knew. 

Between their practice time on the ice, conditioning in the gym, and recovery in the pool, Clint felt like he lived at the Stark Complex again. There were more than a few nights he was too exhausted to make his short commute and crashed on the couch in Natasha’s room. 

Not that Bucky’s schedule was any less hectic. Determined to prove himself and make it on the Olympic team now that he’d turned down the NHL, he spent plenty of extra time at the complex as well. It felt like they saw more of each other passing through the locker room than they did at home these days. 

Thankfully the Howlies had unanimously decided that Lucky was going to be their team mascot, so he wasn’t lacking in people to take him out for walks and lavish him with attention. He could often be found at the team practices, nose pressed against the glass as he avidly watched the players zip around. Sometimes Peggy even let him out on the rink at the end of practice, and he took an unbridled delight in chasing the pucks across the ice. 

Even luckier, the teenage archer Kate had developed an intense adoration of Lucky. After the day Kate had encountered Clint sobbing in the kitchen and recommended the rehab facility Bucky ended up going to, she seemed to have decided they couldn’t take care of themselves and made it her mission to check in on them periodically. Somehow she’d come to the conclusion that Lucky was her responsibility too, so she made sure he got fed on time and got taken out for plenty of walks when the Howlies were off at their away games.

It had become a common sight for Clint to be walking past the archery range and see his dog curled up at Kate’s feet as she fired arrows into her target. Clint felt bad he didn’t have more time to spend with his dog, but he was extremely grateful for Kate and the Howlies. 

Fury had introduced Steve to Pietro Maximoff, and he’d taken to speed skating like a duck to water. Pietro was thrilled his first student was doing so well, and that he’d attracted a few more students as a result. 

When it came time to pick the Olympic teams, nobody was surprised that Clint and Natasha were at the top of the pairs figure skating list. They’d been consistently taking home gold in all their competitions over the past couple of seasons and as much as Clint hated to admit it, Fury had been right about putting the quintuple throw jump in the second half of the free skate. Natasha was landing it about eighty percent of the time at practice, and so far she hadn’t missed it during competition. 

Clint wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about the song Fury and Coulson had picked out for their free skate. After the “Hall of the Mountain King” argument, Clint had stopped expressing much of an opinion on the choice of song. They’d won every competition they entered with that song, so as long as Natasha agreed to it Clint had decided he didn’t care anymore. He was a professional; he could skate to a song he didn’t like. 

So when Fury had come to them with some Swedish ballad from a musical about immigrants, Clint had shrugged and gone along with it. It had only been after months of hearing the music over and over again that curiosity had won out and he googled a translation to figure out who this Kristina was. 

“Are you kidding me?” he’d asked Fury at their next practice. “Gold turned into sand? Is this your way of telling me something?”

Fury had just shrugged and dug into his pocket to pull out a twenty dollar bill. He dropped it in Natasha’s outstretched hand as Clint’s jaw dropped. 

“He bet on you never figuring it out,” Natasha had informed him, pocketing the cash. “I figured you’d get curious about Kristina after a few months.” 

As annoyed as he’d been that they’d been betting on him, Clint did have to admit the costumes that went along with that routine were a work of art. The top of the costumes were made out of several layers of sandy-colored tulle, slowly transitioning into gold lamé at the bottom. The design had perfectly captured the essence of the desert enveloping the beauty of the gold. 

He was excited to be wearing such a glamorous outfit for his second Olympics, and he said as much to Bucky as they were packing their bags for the trip. Bucky had made it on the Olympic team too, of course. Clint always knew he would. 

“You’re just lucky your getup’s so thin,” Bucky muttered darkly, trying to stuff a hoodie around his bulky leg pads. “I barely got enough room for my gear - how’m I supposed to pack any clothes to wear?” 

“Who says you need those?” Clint asked, wiggling his eyebrows. 

Bucky threw a pair of socks at Clint’s head. “I am going to freeze to goddamn death because I found out I was good at getting hit with a projectile hunk of rubber at the age of ten. Make yourself useful and pack those for me,” he demanded, throwing another pair of socks at Clint. 

Clint shrugged and stuffed them in his bag. Even with his costumes, skates, makeup, and opening ceremony uniform, he still had plenty of room in his suitcase. He fully expected most of Bucky’s wardrobe to be in his bag by the time they were packed and ready to leave. 

“I still say you forgo the clothes, baby” he said, sliding behind Bucky and running his hands up Bucky’s shirt. “I’d keep you warm, don’t you worry.” 

Bucky sighed heavily, grabbing Clint’s wrists and gently pushing them away. “That is the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard, and this is not the time,” he informed him, turning to face Clint. “I have to pack, Clint. Seriously.” 

“Just pack it in my bag, I don’t care,” Clint told him, reaching out again. “Remember what happened with the rooms in Sochi? I might not get you to myself for a whole two weeks if they haven’t gotten all the dorms constructed. This could be our last time alone together if I drop Natasha and she kills me. Or if she strangles me doing that weird thigh spin thing she wants to do at the gala.” 

Bucky sighed again, but stepped forward to take Clint in his arms. “She won’t kill you because you won’t drop her,” he said, tilting his head back to plant a kiss on Clint’s forehead. “But I see your point. I suppose I could take a break from packing to engage in a more enjoyable… recreational activity…” 

Clint smirked. Three and a half years into marriage and he still had it. “I hoped you’d say that,” he said, pressing himself into Bucky and slowly rubbing himself down Bucky’s leg. “You wanna suck my puck, Buck?” he asked seductively. 

Bucky choked, shoving Clint away from him. “What the fuck?” he spluttered, seemingly caught between a laugh and outrage. “That doesn’t even make sense, what the hell is wrong with you?” 

“Aww, Bucky, no,” Clint whined. “I’ve been saving that for a special occasion.” 

“Do you even know what a puck is?” he demanded, putting his hands on his hips. 

“Sure I do! It’s the heavy little black jobber you get hit with all the time. The one that leaves all those pretty bruises for me to play with,” Clint said with an eyebrow wiggle. 

“Aww, you think they’re pretty?” Bucky asked, the response well worn and familiar. “Also how’m I supposed to suck your puck? What _is_ your puck?” 

“I dunno,” Clint shrugged. He hadn’t thought much past the silly rhyme to be honest. “I’m sure you’d figure it out. I believe in you.” 

Bucky raised a hand to his forehead and covered his eyes as he squeezed his temples. “Why did I marry you again?” 

“So you could suck my puck?” 

“Oh my god, stop saying that!” 

“But Bucky,” Clint said, slipping his hand behind his back to pull out the hockey puck he’d stuffed in his back pocket and pressing it against Bucky’s chest, “I heard your stickhandling was amazing. Surely you know your way around a puck.” 

The look of shock on Bucky’s face was priceless and Clint grinned, pleased with himself. 

“You could do a poke check,” he added with a wink. 

Bucky choked on a laugh and snatched the puck out of Clint’s hand. “I’ll show you some stickhandling,” he growled, tossing the puck on the couch and crouching to pick Clint up in an easy lift. “I can’t believe you,” he muttered, carrying Clint towards the bedroom, “‘Suck your puck’ indeed…”

*

Bucky sat in his locker stall, head in his hands and elbows on his knees as the rest of the team bustled around him getting ready for the final hockey game of the Olympics. He couldn’t believe he’d made it this far. That they’d all made it this far. 

A bunch of the Howlies were here with him, but he wasn’t just thinking about his team. Steve had made the Olympic team with his speed skating, and he’d already made it through the preliminary races and semifinals. Their final race was in two days and people couldn’t stop talking about Steve’s shocking rise to the speed skating elite. Bucky wasn’t surprised, though. He knew Steve had been working his whole life to be here - he just took a more unconventional path than most. He hadn’t actually “come out of nowhere” like all the reporters were saying. 

Clint and Natasha were done competing, winning another gold medal in the process. His husband got to retire on a high note and Bucky couldn’t be happier for him. 

When Clint had first told him about his plan to retire after the Olympics, Bucky had been floored. Figure skating was his whole life and he wanted to give that up to support Bucky’s career? But then Clint kept talking and Bucky realized he was doing it to give them both the future they’d been dreaming about since the day they’d adopted Lucky. 

This Olympics, Clint had waited until after the medaling ceremony to accost Bucky with a stuffed animal. “Have kids with me?” he’d asked, kneeling in front of Bucky while holding out a stuffed penguin. 

“You’re drunk off medaling,” Bucky had said with a laugh, pulling him up and into his arms as the reporters around them had erupted. “We’re gonna have so many kids together. It’s gonna be great.” 

No matter what happened in this game, he’d always have Clint, Bucky thought as he sat hunched over in his stall. Even if the Canadians scored a hundred goals against him, Clint would still find a way to make it okay. Coach Peggy would have a lot of unpleasant things to say about that, but Clint would be proud of him for making it this far no matter what happened in the next sixty minutes. 

Bucky took a deep breath, then stood up to start collecting his gear. Somehow his blocker had gotten shoved under the bench next to Jesse from the Icehogs after their last game and there was a helmet that definitely didn’t belong to him lying under his leg pads. 

Once he collected all of his stray gear and chucked the offending helmet at its rightful owner, he started his pregame ritual by french braiding his hair. “You’re a moose; nothing can get past you,” he repeated to himself as he braided. It was a mantra he’d started using after his Canadian roommate in rehab had likened him to a moose in all his goalie equipment. 

A few weeks into rehab, Bucky had been complaining about how out of practice he was and how his goalie skills were probably shot to hell again when Logan had blurted out, “Why are you worried, man? You’re the size of a moose out there, nothing can get past you!” 

“A _moose_?” Bucky had demanded, indignant. “What, I’m nine feet tall with antlers?” 

Bucky had learned a lot of Canadian idioms rooming with Logan, but for some reason the moose one had really stuck with him. When he’d finally gotten back on the ice after rehab - completely out of practice and goalie skills indeed shot to hell - it was something he’d started telling himself to calm his nerves. The mantra slowly found its way into his pregame ritual, and now it was something he couldn’t imagine playing hockey without saying. 

When Bucky finished braiding his hair, he stopped telling himself he was a moose and looped a bright purple hair tie around the ends of the braid. The hair ties were a pre-Olympics gift from Clint who claimed to have kissed all the hair ties in the pack for luck. 

They’d made it to the finals, so Bucky figured it might have worked. 

Hair properly tamed, Bucky started the long process of donning his gear. First came his bodysuit with its cut-resistant panels. He had a love-hate relationship with the bodysuit; he loved not having his neck or ankles sliced open by a stray skate blade, but he hated how sweaty the darn thing got. No matter how sweat-wicking it claimed to be, it was always soaked through by the end of a game. Next came the player cup - the less said about that the better. After that were the knee pads, his extra-padded goalie pants with the built-in goalie cup - yes, he wore two, thank you very much for asking, _Clint_ \- and his skates with the ratcheting laces he could tighten with one hand. 

When Tony had designed the skates for him, gosh, it must have been six or seven years ago now, he’d fully expected to own the only pair on the planet. That lasted about a month before the rest of the Howlies stormed Tony’s office demanding pairs of their own. From there they’d caught on with the rest of the AHL, then infiltrated the NHL. Now nearly every professional hockey player wore Stark Skates, with the exception of a few older guys who refused to flout tradition. 

Bucky had just finished adjusting his jersey when Peggy’s quiet “it’s time to go, boys” cut through the raucous chatter of the locker room. As the team filed out one by one, Bucky took a deep breath, savoring the moment one last time. 

“You ready for this?” their backup goalie Carlson asked, giving Bucky’s shoulder a friendly thump with the butt of his stick. 

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” 

*

By the end of the third period, Team USA was up by one point and the Canadians were starting to look a little desperate. Bucky was on edge, wanting to relax because they were in the lead, but knowing the slightest bit of carelessness on his part could cost them the game. Bucky normally welcomed that single-minded feeling he liked to describe as the “ice in his veins” but right now it felt more like he was melting into the floor. 

“Just focus on the now,” he muttered quietly to himself. He forced himself to slow his breathing as he hovered in the crease. There were only about three minutes left in the game, but he wasn’t sure how much longer his nerves could take this. 

He had his eyes on the puck when he heard a lot of shouting coming from the Canadians. He glanced away from the player in possession for a second, and to his surprise and horror he saw their goalie booking it towards the bench. Fuck. They were pulling the goalie.

“You got this, Barnes,” Falsworth shouted as he zipped past to intercept one of the Canadians. 

Bucky did not, in fact, feel like he had this. He hated having to defend the goal with an extra attacker on the ice. It made his job so much harder and he just prayed that his team would use the empty net to their advantage once they were back in possession. 

He watched as Falsworth forced a turnover and passed it to Miller who passed it to Davis. Davis was sprinting down the ice when one of the Canadians body checked him and took possession of the puck. 

Bucky’s eyes followed the puck as they passed it from player to player. He saw the slight twitch as their center pretended to pass to a wing, and lunged to the side as the wrist shot came flying his way. The puck bounced off his chest and landed on the ice in front of him. 

Time seemed to slow down as Bucky took control of the puck with his stick. “You got this, Barnes,” he whispered to himself and took a few strokes out of the crease, eyes focused on the empty net two hundred feet away. The scrape of his skates on the ice cut through the sound of the blood pounding in his ears and he let the puck fly. When questioned later, he could never say what possessed him. All he knew was that in that moment it felt right. 

Whatever the reason, it seemed Bucky’s instincts were good as the puck slid into the empty net and the stadium erupted in screams. 

Bucky braced himself as his teammates threw themselves at him. 

“Bucky!”

“Oh my god!” 

“Bucky you scored a goal!” 

“That was awesome, Barnesy!” his teammates shouted at him as they swarmed him with hugs and thumped him on the head with their gloved hands. 

Bucky laughed, hoping it didn’t sound as hysterical as he felt. He’d never expected to score a goal, much less one at the Olympics. And now they were up by two with just over two minutes left in the game. The Canadians would be hard pressed to tie up the game now. 

His teammates skated away for the face-off after a few final thumps. The Canadian goalie was back in the game with their last minute gamble having not paid off, and Bucky reached back to take a quick swig from the water bottle sitting on top of the goal. “Game time,” he whispered to himself, rolling his shoulders and shaking out his arms. 

The referee dropped the puck between Gabe and the Canadian center. After a brief scuffle the Canadians took possession and Bucky slid forward, ready to protect his goal. He edged further out as they approached, presenting a larger target and cutting down on their shooting angles. 

One of the wings tried for a slapshot that Bucky stopped easily, catching it in his glove and tossing it towards Eli. Eli took off as fast as he could towards the other end of the rink and made it about halfway before one of the Canadians checked him into the boards and took off with the puck.

Bucky took a quick glance at the clock before turning his focus back to the Canadians bearing down on him. “Fifty-eight seconds,” he muttered, holding out his arms and crouching down in preparation to drop to his knees. 

Players clustered in front of him and Bucky struggled to keep his eye on the puck. He dropped to his knees as a shot came in and he felt the puck bounce off his leg pad. He tried to trap it under his glove, but there were too many bodies in the way. One of the Canadians swooped in to take possession and Bucky lost track of the puck as he struggled to get back on his feet. 

He heard the goal horn sound and let out a deep sigh. They must have ducked behind the goal for a wraparound before Bucky could get back in place. So much for that two point lead. 

Bucky got back to his feet as the skaters around him took off for what was hopefully the final faceoff of the game. He took another sip of water and shook out his arms again. “Twenty-three seconds,” he whispered to himself. 

The Canadians won the faceoff again and Bucky crouched down, ready to defend his goal. He kept his eye on the puck - the Canadian forwards were _good_ and he really didn’t want to end the period with a tie and go into overtime. His eyes tracked the black disc as it got closer and closer; he needed to be ready to stop that puck at a moment’s notice. 

Before it came to that, Jesse checked the player in possession and passed the puck to Davis. 

Davis ducked around one of the Canadians and took off down the rink, no doubt trying to run down the clock while getting the puck as far away from Bucky as possible. He snuck another glance at the clock. Twelve seconds. 

Davis passed to Falsworth in the neutral zone. Nine seconds. 

Eli cut off the Canadian player attempting to intercept Falsworth. Seven seconds. 

Falsworth passed back to Davis. Four seconds. 

Two of the Canadian players converged on Davis. Three seconds. Bucky tensed, crouching again. 

One of them managed a takeaway and sent a desperate shot his way. Bucky dropped to his knees and the puck bounced off his leg pad as the period end horn sounded. 

The stadium erupted in deafening cheers and Bucky looked up to see all his teammates jumping over the boards and converging on him. Jesse got to him first and hauled him to his feet with an enormous smile on his face. 

“OHMYGOD, BUCKY!” he yelled as they got assaulted by the rest of the team. 

Bucky felt like he’d fallen into a particularly joyous trash compactor as his teammates surrounded him, screaming his name and beating him about the head as they expressed their enthusiasm in the traditional manner of hockey players. 

In the midst of all the yelling, he heard Gabe say, “Bucky, you scored the game winning goal!” and for a second he felt like he couldn’t breathe. Oh god, he had, hadn’t he? 

This was everything he'd worked for. The hours of practice, the struggle through rehab, the pain of physical therapy, it was all for this moment. 

As the screaming slowly died down and the crush of his teammates lessened, Bucky felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to see Morita pointing up towards the bleachers. Looking into the crowd, he spotted Clint jumping up and down and screaming, tears streaming down his face. 

When Clint saw Bucky was looking at him, he mouthed “I love you” and cupped his hands into a heart shape in front of his chest. Bucky felt a lump rise in his throat and bit his lip before he started tearing up too. He pulled off his glove and held his hand aloft, thumb, index, and pinkie finger pointed in the air with his ring and middle fingers pressed into his palm. 

“I love you too, Clint Barton!” he shouted, knowing he couldn’t hear him from that distance but needing to yell it all the same. “I love you too!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we made it! I'm sorry, Canada.   
> I like to think that Bucky later gets a text from Logan saying something along the lines of " _Congrats. You suck._ "
> 
> Just the epilogue left...


	7. Epilogue

Eight years later...

Clint was in the kitchen trying to cook dinner when he realized he hadn’t heard anything coming from the kids’ rooms in a while. He tapped the counter with a spatula to make sure his hearing aids were still working, and when he heard the dull knock of the plastic on marble he grew a little more concerned. Silence was never a good sign with their rowdy kids. 

He sighed, turned off the burners on the stove, and chucked the knives in the sink. He loved their kids, but he trusted them about as far as he could throw them - which was, admittedly, pretty far. Even in his retirement to coaching he kept a pretty vigorous workout schedule. The day he could no longer demonstrate an overhead lift would be a very sad day indeed. 

Still, even Clint knew that knives and kids didn’t mix. He’d learned his lesson about leaving knives on the countertop the hard way when Kamala was four and he’d come in to find her on a stepstool wielding a paring knife like a cleaver. By some miracle she still had all her fingers, and Clint was hoping to keep it that way. 

At seven she could mostly be trusted in the kitchen now, but five year old Miles was pretty much an accident waiting to happen. It was a good thing they still got decent health insurance through Bucky’s part-time coaching position in the NHL because between the gymnastics and his natural fearlessness, Clint figured it was only a matter of time before Miles landed himself with an injury they couldn’t patch up with band-aids and kisses at home. 

The first place Clint checked was the playroom. They usually weren’t this quiet in the playroom, but maybe they were reading or something. It seemed he was out of luck - the only remotely lifelike thing in the playroom was the giant stuffed tarantula Nat had given Miles for his birthday. 

Next he checked their bedrooms, which were also suspiciously empty. Even Samuel’s room was empty, which meant Kamala and Miles had dragged him into whatever mischief they were getting into. 

He finally found them in the living room and what he saw startled him into a laugh. “What are you doing with those?” he asked his guilty-looking children. 

Miles was standing on the couch with two gold medals around his neck, the ribbons so long they came down almost to his knees. Kamala was on the floor next to him, standing on tiptoe so she could hang a third medal around his neck. Samuel was propped up in the corner of the couch and appeared to be chewing on a hockey puck. 

“We’re playing Olympics,” Miles said, taking a step sideways to stand behind his sister. 

Kamala nodded. “Miles just won the all-around and he also got gold in vault and rings,” she told Clint very seriously. 

Clint covered his mouth and tried not to laugh again. “That’s very impressive,” he told them. “Why don’t I take a picture to send to your other daddy? I’m sure he’ll be very proud of you.” 

Miles and Kamala nodded, and Clint pulled out his phone to take a picture as Kamala draped the medal around her brother’s neck. He made sure to get Sam in the picture too, and sent it off to Bucky with the message “ _Seems like we’ve got another Olympian in the family_ ”. 

Clint got a reply that was just a string of cry-laughing emojis. A moment after that his phone started ringing. 

“Hey honey,” he answered with a smile. 

“Please tell me that’s not my Olympic game puck in Sam’s mouth,” Bucky said flatly. 

Clint glanced at the medal case in the corner and noticed a distinct lack of puck. Aww, puck, no… That was the game puck Bucky’s teammates had given to him after he scored a goal at the Olympics. Now it probably had teeth marks in it. 

“I’m so sorry honey,” Clint said, tugging it gently out of Sam’s mouth. Yep. Teeth marks. “I know this one’s special to you.” 

“I don’t care about that, you dolt!” Bucky practically shouted in his ear. “Do you know how many sweaty hockey players touched that thing? It’s filthy! Get it out of his mouth!” 

Oh. Right. Trust Bucky to care about practical things like germs. 

“I already did,” Clint said, handing Samuel an actual teething ring before wiping the puck on his pants and putting it back in the medal case. 

“Good,” Bucky huffed. “Now put me on video; I want to congratulate our littlest Olympian.”

Clint laughed and pulled the phone away from his ear. He clicked on the video button and Bucky’s smiling face appeared. 

“Are you on the ice right now?” he asked his husband as Miles and Kamala clustered behind him, tugging on his sleeve so they could see the phone too. 

“I can multitask,” Bucky told Clint before yelling “watch those angles!” to someone off camera. 

Clint rolled his eyes and handed the phone to Miles. He jumped on the couch, medals clanking against his legs, and Clint could hear Bucky congratulate him on winning three gold medals. Kamala clambered up behind Miles and they both started chattering about the imaginary routine. 

Clint sat on the couch next to them and pulled Sam onto his lap before gently taking the phone from Miles. 

“My arms are longer,” he said to Miles, holding the phone out so Bucky could see all four of them. Bucky shot him a grateful look. With the way Miles was waving the phone around, Clint figured the video feed must have been pretty nauseating. 

“- and then I did an L cross press to an inverted cross,” Miles kept rambling as Clint caught Bucky’s eye again and shared an indulgent smile. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of Sam’s head and reflected on all those years he and Bucky had thought winning an Olympic gold medal was the best thing that could happen to them. 

It turned out they’d been wrong. Their kids brought them more joy and happiness than any medal ever could. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End. 
> 
> Many thanks to [Bedlamwolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bedlamwolf/pseuds/Bedlamwolf) who encouraged me to start writing this sequel way back in 2018, to [Nny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nny/pseuds/Nny) for beta reading, cheerleading, and forcing me to flesh out Bucky's side of the story, and to my hockey-loving friend Vincent who was like "umm, no, goalie goals do not work like that" and made the ending a little more believable. I love you all.


End file.
